Like the lady pushing her cart across the Walmart parking lot toward me. She was clean and coiffed, slow-moving, her quad cane in her cart filled with bagged groceries.
I could have walked past her, straight into the store, but not in a hurry, I asked, "May I help you?" and did. Her car was in the closest handicap space. After she clicked, I popped up the trunk and let her instruct me about where to place what (milk and butter in the little white cooler, cat food cans between it and the tire wheel, perishables a safe distance away).
"Oh" I said, looking in one bag, "cherries!"
"Yes," she replied, "and they're still less than three dollars a pound."
"They aren't on my list, but I'll definitely get some." I added, "Did you see the blood oranges earlier in the season? Big ones and smaller ones like Little Cuties."
She answered, somewhat wistfully, "No, I missed them. Maybe next year!"
I waited till she was in the car, took her basket back across the crosswalk, and thought I really hope she sees next year.