I got out of the car.
Surprised, they looked at me with a distrust that quickly turned to hostility. They ordered me to leave the parking lot immediately—this was private property, not a homeless shelter. I told them that I was just going to the supermarket to buy a bottle of water, but they said I was in no condition to walk down the aisles. What would decent people say? Hadn’t I noticed what I looked like? Couldn’t I smell the stink? They stood in front of me with their hands on their clubs, determined not to let me pass, to force me to leave. But I’d carelessly left the car door open. And the ladies couldn’t stand it. That was why Don Jacinto had always closed it so quickly when he got out of the car.
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