To dock or not to dock: a tale of kittens' tails
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I noticed her sitting in the far corner of the reception area, patiently waiting for the crowd to clear. She was an older lady with white hair. Short and petite, tanned to a rough brown, she was well-dressed for Sweet Home. Her face and hands showed the wrinkles that came from years of outside work.
My curiosity was getting to me. I stayed up front to see what she wanted.
“Ma’am,” I said, “is there something that I can help you with?”
She approached the counter with slow, measured steps.
“Are you Dr. Larsen?” she asked. “I have heard a lot about you from my friends. I am Jun...
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