Lost soul, broken bottle

 

Before dawn: lost soul in the parking lot, marching. One bottle in each hand, held out as if for balance, she stopped every few steps to lean to the side, like a drunken dancer. A neighbor asked if I knew who she was, and I said maybe she's exercising. She's also muttering, he said. She walked all the way to the end of the townhouses, then turned back. "Are you ok?" Lilith and I asked, as we were there on our circuit. She kept marching, lurching, this time in the other direction. As she started up the hill at the street, she dropped a bottle. It was glass, and it shattered on the sidewalk. She looked, kept going. Lilith and I walked over. There was a label over some broken glass. Wild Cherry Juice.