The Watcher at the Window
Not everyone believed in waiting before judging.
Across the street lived Gladys Henderson — Oak Street’s self-appointed gatekeeper and human surveillance tower. She practically lived at her bay window, binoculars in hand, guarding what she called “standards.”
“Eleanor,” she whispered one afternoon, “that biker is going to bring trouble.”
I sighed and said what I always do when fear disguises itself as wisdom:
“Maybe say hello before you say no.”
