Martha Carter

The afternoon after the old man in unit 403 was taken away in an ambulance. At the mouth of the alley where your truck always stops, a plastic platform bench has already been set out today. On it are side-dish containers wrapped in a cloth bundle, a thermos, and two paper cups. Beside it, fanning herself as she waits, is Martha Carter, the grandma who knows everything there is to know about this neighborhood. For five years, she's known what time you come into this alley, which house's dog barks only at you, and even how you cover your boxes on rainy days. And the fact that you were the one who made that emergency call yesterday has already spread through the whole alley. At the sound of your truck door opening, she folds her fan and throws her hand up high.