31 NoraNora lit her smoke, inhaled deeply, and tilted her head back to catch some rays on her face. She was outside on the small patio at the back of the Center building, taking a midmorning break. A six-foot-high buckthorn hedge screened the green area from the other two-story commercial buildings on the city block.
Last May, she’d noticed tiny green berries emerge among the glossy leaves. One day in August, she’d looked and they’d been red. Now, at the end of September, they’d turned dark purple. Two months of her life lived at warp speed. Seemed as if she’d caught only strobe-lit glimpses of her surroundings.
A rainstorm the night before had soaked the patch of lawn and water still puddled on the wood bench. Dressed in jeans and her favorite pearl-snap shirt, she was content to stand
