Terrified of being stopped by police, he whizzed past them on his bike. Droplets of sweat on his forehead. A hankie around his face. A familial compromise. One more week of lock-down would push him into an abyss of despair. He would wake at night to find himself playing a same question in his mind. What he’d do if the crisis did not abate? His savings were no more. He could no more open his shop. He’d sew your clothes at home, for he could no longer sit idle. You provided him with gloves and masks. An expression of gratitude.
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2 thoughts on “A Familial Compromise”