CHAPTER 11
Just before noon Lary gingerly steps over slick patches of ice in her five-year-old boots with no tread, when a truck horn blasts, distracting her. She begins to slide crazily back and forth like a giraffe on skates, her arms flailing in the air.
Splat! She lands on her well-padded butt right next to a frozen dog turd. Lifting her head to see if anyone is around, she’s relieved to discover she’s alone. Gathering herself upright she shakes out her limbs, checking for injuries.
Ha! At least all this extra fat is good for something.
The air is damp and frigid. The odd snowflake meanders down from a blanket of gray to lie on the dirt-streaked snow looking more like week-old bread.
Ahead to her left about forty feet, on a scruffy empty lot, stands a huge billboard on stilts: Wel
