Pulling into my driveway about 30 seconds before Ester—
my 97-year-old neighbor—comes up pushing a basket
with a grocery bag inside, I get out of my car and start
a little conversation with her, and around two minutes in,
she points to my car and says with a smile, “Are you still willing
to sell me your car? And by the way, how much are you willing
to give it to me for?”
“If you have exactly fifty cents, I’ll give it to you right now,
but only if you have a fifty-cent piece to pay for it!”
I respond with my own smile.
“All I have on me is a fifty-dollar bill. Will you take that?”
she asks with a serious expression.
“I’ll consider it another time!” I reply.
“Okay. . . we’ll talk about it another time. I really like your car!”
are her final words on the subject.
