Episode XIX

87.

“You walk like a penguin,” I said.

“You walk like you have a load in your pants,” Marvella countered.

“Touché.”

We were walking from the car to the front door of our rented house in another obscure small town in a state shaped like poorly cut brownie. Her leg was still in a cast but she refused to use crutches or a cane because they “add ten years to my looks.” So she waddled. I walked with a slight hitch because of the stab wound on my leg. We must have made a funny pair walking down the sidewalk.