She was still reeling from errant seagull attacks. That would certainly teach her to keep anchovies in her pocket. She tried rinsing her jacket in the bay water but couldn’t get the stink off, so she resigned herself to smelling like a bag of overripe fish for the duration of her walk to town. She’d try to find a cheap jacket at the Redeemer Family Light thrift store, “where all your purchase dollars go to our Heal the Poor ministry and job training center.” Hell, with the stench wafting up strong and feral from the front of the coat pockets, she might as well ask what kinds of benefits they might have available for her. If the threadbare hoodie and torn gloves weren’t enough to have a charity take pity on her, the herring breeze which dogged her steps like hound dog in heat might do the trick.
A World Made Out of Stories 