#11 MCDOWELL STREET
Ten AM arrives and I am knocking on the door of number 11 on McDowell Street. A medium-build young woman, probably Mexican, answers the door. She greets me with a smile as if she has known me for ages.
“I always read your articles in the newspaper,” she says. “I think I know you. Come in please.”
She has prepared coffee and homemade doughnuts. This is a special treat. We sit and chat over hot coffee, me munching the doughnuts like I am starved. They are especially good. With powdered sugar and cinnamon. Warm and tasty.
“Today is Friday, and you are not working?”
“I am so distressed over my boy, I can’t go in to work. They understand. Said take as much time as I need. It’s a good company, the phone company. I have been with them for several years. I am now a supervi
