#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.