The line was moving very slowly at the drugstore. The two women who just paid at the counter were holding the line. They were engaged in animated conversation, indifferent to the waiting people, some fuming with impatience.

I surmised that the two women were not from town — my town of preppies and Lily Pulitzer-clad women. Both women had Down Syndrome.

How do we carry all these? Said the younger one.
Let’s take a cab. The other responded.

They started counting their money painstakingly, the older woman fishing coins from her purse and putting them on the cupped hand of the other. They grimaced as they reached their last coin. Their faces showed they did not have enough.

An attractive, well-dressed young woman stepped out of the line, went to the front and approached the two. Where do you live? She asked.

I recognized the address — the subsidized housing at the edge of town. The well-dressed woman put down her basket of toiletries and said, Come I will drive you home.

The line started moving again.

This post was inspired by Krista’s Writing Challenge posted on August 4, 2014: Memoir Madness.  You might want to see what other people did with the challenge too!