Moderate Pomp (Fictional Work‪)‬

THERE'S A POSSE OF AMPUTEES Outside the UN Drive Supermarket. My van rolls into the lot and four of them limp toward the spot it's about to take. The amputees are male, older than teenaged, but barely. Some are missing an arm; most lack a leg. Sitting shotgun in a twelve-seater van, I have some clear advantages over the amputees: height, for example, locks, money, limbs, an overprotective driver named Ernest. Nonetheless, when I call over their heads-"Do you have today's paper?"--I hear the meekness of a woman outnumbered.