She smiled, handing the drink to me.

I wiped the tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand, “Thanks,” I sniffed, hiding under my lashes. I was feeling a bit under the gun. Getting caught in a full-blown squall preceded a reputation that I didn’t care for much.

The elderly woman sat down next to me and unsnapped her faded black purse. She drew out a bleached handkerchief. She reached out and handed it to me without a word. My mouth dropped opened, unsure if I should take it or decline. My gaze dropped to the monogram initials, F.N., nicely engraved on the napkin. It must be vintage. Only old folks carried a cloth handkerchief. Hesitantly, I mumbled, “Thanks,” And accepted her offer. I patted my face, wiping my nose delicately. I wasn’t up on the protocol of etiquette. Did I hand it back to her or return it after I washed it? Uncertain of the proper thing to do and getting worked up over a stupid handkerchief, I did what any respectable person would do. I tucked it under my leg. Outta sight, outta mind or at least, outta mine. I silently took a drink, feeling under the gun over the stupid cloth. For Pete’s sake! I scolded myself. It was just a small thin cloth!

I snuck a sideways glance at the woman. I picked up on her accent right away. It was the same tone as everyone else in this hellhole. I wondered if I should thank her and excuse myself. I decided to chill and play it cool, taking a small sip of my drink.

“Where y’at? Ya and ya mom'n'em stay at Claude’s hotel?” she smiled warmly.

I had a little difficulty understanding her words, so I just answered, “yes,” I took another sip.

“Ya been job huntin’?”

I scoffed. “Been trying.” I rolled the cool bottle between my palms. The moisture made me think of swimming.

“Did you get hired?” she inquired rather noisily.

“Yes.” I took another sip of my drink.

“That's good!”

I detected a little French in her timbre.

“Not really.” I flinched. “I can’t take it.”

“What ya say?” her white brows knitted.

“The job requires transportation. I don’t have the money to fix our car.” This time, I swigged my drink down in a rush. My lips pinched.

“Ya don’t say!” the elderly woman smiled.

I shrugged. “I reckon.” I finished my soda, holding back a belch.

She smiled brightly against her golden skin.