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Fair and Fierce

An SUV pulled up in front of the house. There were two women in it. Trudy could see this, because she happened to be at the front door at that very moment.

They pulled up beside the purple-blooming Verbena and various Salvias and the yellow-blooming Englemann Daisy and Xexmenia. One of the woman had a cigarette in her hand that she held out the curbside window. She periodically flicked her ashes into the yard. Trudy could see this, and she was not impressed.

The women talked, and the woman flicked. And Trudy opened the door and began walking out to the curb where the women were taking their smoking break. She held up a wagging finger. She was sure that her genetic predisposition to scowling was in full force. She took long strides toward the curb.

The women saw her coming, and the driver let off the brake, and her SUV began to roll slowly forward.

“No, no, no,” Trudy said, shaking her head, pointing at the cigarette. “Not here, you don’t.”

She told me this later that evening. She held up a hand, and we high fived.

Fair and industrious, yes. But on that day: Fair and Fierce.