The Kindest Lie: A Delivery Driver, an Old Woman, and Rusty’s Last Winter

Sometimes it was oatmeal. Sometimes vitamins. Once, a heavy wool blanket because I saw her shivering.

We would stand on the porch and complain about “Big Tech” and “broken algorithms.” It was our secret language.

I worked extra shifts on weekends to pay for my Thursdays. My car sounded like a tractor, but I ignored it. The noise of my engine didn’t continue reading …