By Ursule Molinaro

Mrs. Feathergill is watching Mrs. Moreno destroy herself. It has become a one-hour slot in Mrs. Feathergill's mornings. From eleven to noon.

It's not that she wishes Mrs. Moreno ill. She barely knows the woman, except for an occasional Good Afternoon, when they happen to check their mailboxes at the same time. A Hello, How are you? if they happen to pass carts in the supermarket. → Read more