#82, Tara.

She was the waitress at our Thai restaurant, the one behind our building. It was so close by, and so amazingly good! We'd really lucked out. And there she was, such a sweetie, only here a year from Thailand and with a perpetual smile on her face. Her husband was young, like her, and in the military. They had a fat son, who was 8 months old or so when we first met them. She was small, and slight, and taught us how to say 'young coconut juice' (Nat can't get enough of the stuff) in Thai, which we were told was pronounced na ma prow. That Thai place became our go-to restaurant, mainly because everything else in our neighborhood is total shite, but also because it was just consistently delicious, and seeing Tara was an added bonus. After about a year, when my birthday rolled around, she actually bought me a present: a $15 Visa gift card. i could not get over how sweet and generous and thoughtful that was. One day the place was closed (money problems), and it reopened months later under new ownership. We never saw her again, but i think of her often every time i walk by.

#81, Teddy.

Ted. Teddy. The Tedster. You worked inside of the grocery store that i work outside of. Always a smile, always a scheme. Always using our microwave to heat up the frozen lunches that you'd hidden in the waistband of your jeans. Always sitting on our stool, checking out the myriad female specimens that sashayed by on their way to the beach, the bar, the tanning salon. You were crushed when your girlfriend admitted to (drunkenly) kissing another boy, even as you were sleeping with another girl. And yet, there was something charming about you. Something, we felt, that could be lifted out of the mire to be shined, something that could be saved. But we may have been wrong. You were a nurse who got hooked on (stolen) prescription painkillers. Your own boss thought so highly of you that he got you into a pricey rehab program. Once completed, you jumped headfirst off of that rigid wagon. Career gone, bridges burned. Worked at the grocery store until they fired you too, and last i heard you were cleaning carpets around town, that girl you loved long gone. But the thing about you, Teddy, was that you were smart. You had a glint in your eye. On your sober days we had deep, interesting conversations and i felt like i could sense the regret, see the redemption creeping in. But you always managed to kick them to the curb because something better, something funner, something more right now came along. Then you'd show up weeks later with unwashed hair and dirty teeth and an aura of precarious confusion, a box of stolen Mochi under your shirt so that we would still like you.

We still like you, Ted. Quit living in the right now and try to visualize your future. Those blue eyes will only take you to the edge, not necessarily back.

#80, Lorraine.

Lorraine is a Little Old Lady who comes and sits at our shop every afternoon, weather permitting. She has some problems with ambulation, but at around 3 or 4 every afternoon she comes slowly shuffling up with a shopping cart (i believe this is her way of never having to purchase a walker. Good for her.) and a smile on her face. She sits at one of the tables in the deli area next to the shop drinking a cup of coffee (from the 7-11 on the corner) and reading the day's paper. If i am working the closing shift– or, more likely, staying late from the morning shift– she will meticulously rip out the New York Times crossword for me and hand it over on her way down to the beach. Sometimes she will save them up for a week or more and give me a giant envelope full of them. i don't have the heart to remind her that i only do the Sunday crossword, so i try and be gracious. She wears the same dark blue windbreaker and jeans almost every day, and although she lives with her adult daughter, she has rather poor hygiene and i always wish there was someone to take better care of her. She doesn't seem to mind, though– it sort of fits in with her strong personality. She told us once that when she was young, she would scandalize the town by rolling up the legs on her bathing suit. Yes, you read what i said. Rolling up the legs. To mid-thigh. SHOCKING! She loves spider mums, and carries around her own water tube so that we don't send her home with one after another, thereby being wasteful. Love ya, Lorraine. Don't ever change.

#79, Johnny P.

Johnny lives across the street from my dad in Montana, with his wife Linda. He says "crick" instead of "creek" and has a softly booming, mumbling voice. Wears flannels, vests, jeans and boots and trucker caps. He used to send over homemade salami and sausage for us during the summers, back when we kids were young. He was an avid hunter, you see, and still is, despite losing a couple of fingers at the steel mill where he works. He has a white horse named Dooley who has been around forever. (Our dog Chewy, rest his little soul, was overly fond of stealing across the road to eat Dooley's steaming piles of excrement. This is completely true.)
Johnny saved my dad's life. After lying on the landing for two days because of suffering a bad stroke, my dad finally managed to crawl to the phone and call... Johnny. not '9-1-1', but Johnny. He ran right over and took dad to the hospital. When my brother and i went up by train a couple weeks later, Johnny drove us around to buy air mattresses and groceries. Even though he uses derogatory words a lot, i just can't hate him. (i wish he wouldn't say things like that, obviously, but unfortunately i don't think the man will change any time soon.) Thank you for being there, Johnny.