Linda

Linda is a slip of a woman; a tiny little 5 foot, 89 pound 65 year old southern gal. She's divorced, drives a silver convertible mustang with a trunk full of cleaning supplies and a glass of sweet tea in the cupholder. She is called the Domestic Diva and cleans some of the nicest houses in Hilton Head. When she found out we didn't have a vacuum, she gave us one. She used to visit us every day at the jewelry store I worked at; she is my former boss' best friend. Some times she would join us for brek-ast (that's how she pronounces it), sometimes she'd bring her tiny little poodle as well.
Last week I found out that Linda has bone, liver, and brain cancer. And no health insurance. Friends are looking after her and doing her housekeeping work and donating the money that they get paid for it in hopes to be able to pay for her medical care.
Oh, Linda. I love ya, ya old bat.

George

The other day, for some reason, I thought about George. George was a former boss' attorney. Said boss & attorney thought of themselves as Hunter S. Thompson & his attorney in Fear & Loathing.
George was a short-ish man with an afro who also slept in a coffin. The last time I saw him he was teaching me how to ride his scooter through a parking lot. Not the Vespa kind of retro scooter, but the kind kids stand on & ride around the neighborhood. George liked this mode of transportation because you could fold it up when you went to court. I wonder who reperesented him for the DUI he got that landed him as a scooter for mode of transportation.