Tiffany

Tiffany walked up while you were sitting on a park bench, trying to eat your meager lunch. She looked at what you were having and scowled, taking it from you and tossing it in the trash. When you started to say something, she pulled out a napkin and wiped your mouth off, then took you by your hand and guided you across the street to her quaint little house. She had a big pot of stew with a pan of cornbread sitting on the stove, and she prepared you a bowl with a glass of iced tea. As you stare at the food and back at her, your eyes wander to the photographs on the wall. They were all of the same man posing with members of his company battalion, and all encircling a folded military flag and display case of medals. Your own worn military coat you wore had seen better days. Tiffany was a woman who knew your heartache because she suffered it as well.