A Full Mason Jar

As my hand roamed around the mason jar, I tried to find the remaining quarters instead of nickels. With hands shaking violently, it wasn’t easy. Finally I had enough for a pint. At 47, I was living in a spare room in my younger sister’s house with her husband and two young children. I had only 30 minutes to bicycle to the liquor store opening at 8am and return before she got back from taking the kids to school. Since my license tabs and insurance had expired, my car sat lonely in the driveway off to the side. Kind of like its owner.