Sixty-three Year Old Widow Refused to Hide Her Gray Hair at Work

He was cleaning his spectacles with his small silk cloth when I slid into the bench opposite him, my coat still smelling of the cold morning air outside.

“You look rested, Martha,” he said, putting his glasses back on and adjusting the wire frames behind his ears.

“Well, now,” I said. “I believe I am.”

The waitress set a single plate between us with continue reading …