I call it the junkshop.I'm in love with the junkshop girl. She's not the owner, so strictly speakingshe's not the junkshop girl, either. Sometimes I'l... go by and I'll see theowner there, a squat older woman from some Southeast Asian country, and I'llpass by, avoiding her forbidding scowl.But other times I'll be about to pass by the window of the junkshop and I'lljust know my girl is there. Maybe I've subconsciously glimpsed her in one ofthe tarnished tablespoons in the window, or maybe her. I asked the lady to please sit and tell me how I can help her and her family.She sits and introduces herself as Mrs. Carol White and her husband’s name was Steven, kids Mike and daughter was Elisabeth. The name did sound familiar in the political arena, but I could not put my finger on them just yet. She goes into her story as I close my laptop and put my papers away as feel I am not going to get any work done here tonight.Carol begins her story which according to her started about two months. More

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