As I was picking up my grocery bags and turning to leave, an orange bounced off the belt of the register next to me and rolled into my foot. I bent to pick it up, and when I straightened, my pulse jumped as I stared into the wrinkled face of the sweetly smiling old woman in front of me. “Thank you, dear,” she said in a wavering voice. I couldn’t answer, too busy wondering if there was a big purple lizard hiding somewhere in that tiny, hunched body. Maybe she was friends with Ethel the Cackling Lizard Granny. Maybe there was a big network of Lizard Grannies who got together on Friday nights to
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