He usually sat underneath the bench at the side of the room and woke up to snap at waiting customers who forgot he was there, when they slid their feet back under the bench and caught him in his stomach.
But she hadn’t heard from her mother since the storm, had no idea where she would be, embarrassed to ask after a homeless drunk she was unfortunately and blessedly related to.
She dialed the number of the pay phone where her mother was supposed to be, the number her mother had written on an old chip bag.
Already to familiar, so she might as well sign it and seal it up. She could already see the surprise in Margot’s honeyed eyes.
Margot dug in her bag, “of course,” and set the phone next to a pile of hand towels.