be distracted by this horrible, senseless tragic event until my interview was over.
I looked for a woman holding a sign with my name on it near the baggage claim, and there she was. I told her I had no other baggage, except my carry-on, and we headed on to her car in almost virtual silence. I tried some small talk, but she only answered me with short, bullet-like answers, no elaboration. I got the feeling she wasn’t up to talking much. Whatever was going on was cutting in to her pretty bad, hurting her to the core of her soul.
As we seemed to get closer to her house, this tiny, frail woman, herself, who seemed really with it, despite her age, but still didn’t say much more, grew more aloof, stand-offish,...
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