But she came in barefoot.
Mud clung to her shins. Rain dripped from the hem of her faded dress and pooled around her feet on the marble floor. Her hair was soaked flat against her cheeks, and both hands clutched two cans of infant formula
to her tiny chest as if she were carrying oxygen.
You saw the cashier’s expression change first.
Then the manager’s.
Then the crowd did what crowds always do when cruelty is handed permission: they leaned closer. They watched. They judged. They performed disgust as if it cost them nothing. It usually doesn’t.
