And there was the Bangkok Post--one copy at the end of the table. She beamed at me and nothing was quite as lovely as that toothless smile.
I've gone every day since to buy my paper; recently she's been asleep, only waking when I put a weight on top of my payment to keep the baht notes from flying away. I know her days are numbered--and I've told her mine are as well. Her take on that is that my sons ought to move here instead.
Her table has expanded to a magazine rack--she is back in business. Someday she'll nod off for her nap while at work and die happy--we should all be so lucky.