I watched the woman steal three dozen eggs and a sack of potatoes while my shotgun sat loaded behind the door, untouched. It wasn’t the theft that froze me; it was the way she wiped her eyes before she ran.

I walked down to the stand and nailed up a new wooden crate right next to the Honor System box. I grabbed a piece of cardboard and a thick marker.

« SECONDS & BLEMISHED, » I wrote. « UGLY PRODUCE. CAN’T SELL TO STORES. 90% OFF OR TAKE FOR FREE IF YOU HELP ME CLEAR THE INVENTORY. »

I filled that crate with the best food I had. The « dirty » potatoes. The « mismatched » eggs. The « weird » tomatoes.

Then I retreated to the porch and waited.

She came back three days later. Same coughing car. Same tired scrubs.