but she wasn't going away. she hovered by my car and uttered muffled words as she held up a sealed bottle of bright blue gatorade. "please. please. can you help me? i can't get it open. please." was this a ploy? a trick to lure me into opening my window before the inevitable begging for change? i had exchanged my own muffled words indicating i didn't have time, honey.
but she had begun to cry. i peered over at her small and elderly frame before rolling down the window. she handed me the bottle reiterating she couldn't get it open because she had glass in her hand. she held out the back of her hand as further proof. i took hold of the bottle and struggled to unscrew the cap before removing my mitten to try again. she was right... it was on there good. it came loose and i handed it back to her as she bubbled forth with tear-soaked thank you's and i drove away feeling like an ass.