Smells slammed her —raw beef from the galley kitchen, the sweet rhubarb and cherry Polish kompot in an uncovered ceramic bowl on the counter, bleach swiped across the floor, and the lingering smell of piss from the bathroom in the back.
kompot “Yah,” an older, heavyset white woman said from behind the counter. Her gray hair was pulled up in a loose bun. She smiled widely at Sher and waved her hand around the store as if to tell Sher shop here.
shop here.A glass jar of brightly colored penny jaw breakers; one crumbled piece of stale, blood-red cherry pie under a glass cover; and a greenish jar of pickled pig’s feet rested on the counter in front of the woman. An immigrant, the woman had not absorbed the hatred of Indians as had so many other Americans. Since she had not found Americans to
