3.27
The following evening, she lumbered down to South Terrace like a weighed-down mule. She had to whip her haunches to keep going, giddy herself up to the next letterbox, her will locked in battle with her resistance.
At the corner, she stood and looked down the street at the cars heading her way. The pavements were flat and flanking all the side streets, the old sandstone houses with their small gardens tucked behind stone walls and high fences were comforting and alienating all at once. Inside those homes, families were watching television or eating dinner, having a glass of wine, smiling, laughing, maybe playing board games like Scrabble or reading a book. All this while she plopped junk mail in their letterboxes on her way by.
Her bags were empty when she came to the end of South
