Shortly after I had arrived on the high plains of eastern Colorado to start my new job, I went to a hobby store near to where I worked, where I had been told there was a soda machine. The heat wave demanded a cold drink. The small store was one of four bunched in a low cinderblock building - big plate glass windows to the front and a roof that overhung the sidewalk and canted downward to the rear - on the block just off the main drag in the north part of downtown. It was fairly busy, there were maybe a half-dozen people shopping in the few aisles and making purchases at the counter. The soda machine was in the back of the store, near the door through which I had entered. My change clanged down through the machinery, but did not release a soda. I rattled the change lever. I added more change. Still nothing.

I was finally able to determine who was working in the store, at about the same time the owner, completing a sale, came toward me from the counter to see what was the matter.

She was about fifty-five to sixty years old, brown hair with gray up in a net, somewhat heavy-set, with a tired, plain face and glasses, wearing a simple, print dress with an apron. "What's the matter? Machine take your money?" she asked in a friendly tone as she approached. I was encouraged to reply in a friendly, joking manner, not too embarassed to admit that I was also due a refund as I had actually put in enough money for two sodas.

She tried to coax a can out of the machine, trying a few tricks that had apparently worked in the past. After a few minutes of jiggling and jostling the buttons and levers she conceded defeat. "Well, I'll have to get the key," she said, with a slight trace of mock exasperation.

As she returned from the office, a small corner walled off from the rest of the store, a chubby girl about six or seven years old, with a dark round face, long straight black hair and dark brown eyes asked the woman in a timid voice, "What time is it?"

In a short, clipped tone the woman replied, "It's up there," with a curt shrug toward the wall behind her.

The little girl's eyes widened, the white spheres of her eyes dominating her face as she stepped back staring at the woman and the clock she probably could not read.

As the woman leaned down with tightly pursed lips to turn the lock on the soda machine, my own eyes widened and I shrunk back staring as well.