The chicken was on stove. The boys were fighting. The phone was ringing. Too many things happening at the same time. My poor brain was overloaded with apt reactions for each. And now the door bell.
A man in dishelveled hair and clothes reaches into a crumpled polythene bag.
"No. No alms here."
Again he gropes inside the bag.
"I don't want to read any plea."
He is silent but holds out a cover with my husband's name on it.
It dawns. the poor fellow is a courier deliverer.
I feel bad.
"Sorry", I blurt out.
But the deed is done.
He gives the receipt slip to sign. I scrawl something. I feel peeved by the stature of the man.
Someone save me.