I saw a four-year-old girl holding a bottle of milk like it was the most precious thing in the world—while a man behind her mother yelled, “Get a job!”

I was third in line at Walmart that morning, only picking up a few breakfast items. Instant coffee. A carton of eggs. Cream for my arthritis. The same things as always. My knees were hurting, and the lights in the store felt too harsh, but I was still paying attention. Just because I’m seventy-two doesn’t mean I’ve stopped seeing what …
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