a lady with silver-white hair growled at the family and then wheeled her cart around the corner. she’d said something about the young boy being Trouble; he was riding on the bottom rack of the shopping cart.
“why did she say that, mommy?” the boy asked, puzzled.
“oh, she is just a lady who feels the need to be mean for some reason,” the mom answered.
“maybe she doesn’t know me.”
–frozen foods section, trader joe’s