There were so many. They were so tiny.
So this is what community service looks like. Lots of canned goods, and lots of potatoes.
Small potatoes, she giggled silently. She looked at her husband. He was somewhere between resigned and mortified.
“Well, it beats eating jail food.”
“I’m not eating this,” he sounded like an indignant teenager. “We’re taking it people who need it.”
She laughed,”I know, I know.” She didn’t care if he thought she was a bitch or not. She was so relieved but still so embarrassed. But this? A Potato packing warehouse–a punishment straight out of a nursery rhyme–almost made it worth it.
“You the new guy?” Must be the guy in charge. Short, stocky, hispanic guy with a shaved head and a pierced eyebrow.
“That’s me,” he said, flashing his salesman smile. God, he was gonna try to charm his way out of potato duty.
“We’ll see how this goes,” she laughed. “See you at home.”
Trying to move the plot forward by thinking through a couple of possibilities. I have an overall structure in mind but need to think through the connective tissue.