Resigned to a quiet and solitary Christmas Day, I went to the only place in Abbeville I was I could get a meal. All the restaurants, even the fast food outlets, are closed; Abbeville hasn’t enough traffic to merit anything else open but the convenience store at the Valero gas station. Undaunted, I bought some coffee and a pre-packaged three-day old sandwich. I carried it over to the counter by the front window to enjoy my Holiday breakfast. On the third bite, someone inserted his hand in front of my face, between my mouth and my meal. “How ya doin’! Merry Christmas!” a voice called out. What I would normally consider a hostile act, getting between me and my food, I realized was an overt gesture of courtesy. I briskly brushed the crumbs off my lap,
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