Mrs. Watkins, who lived up on the hill, believed that there was no such thing as good, only bad and temporarily not bad, and she had lived her life that way for as long as she could remember, waking to see if the weather was bad or temporarily not bad; tidying herself and going to the kitchen where her husband Earl was reading a daily paper full of news about a world that was either bad or temporarily not bad; driving down into and then through town in a predictable if not exactly foreordained circuit that included conversations with several shopkeepers, cafe owners, and fellow customers whose products and motives were either bad or temporarily not bad; driving back up the hill via a route that took her past the prison, filled with people who were either bad or temporarily not bad; waiting for Earl to finish up his workday — he was a tobacconist — and join her for supper, a moment on the sofa, and a stretch in bed where she could finally close her eyes and shut out the world, purchasing herself a momentary oblivion until morning came and the at least mostly bad sun woke her again.
©2020 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas
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