Archive - November 18, 2023

•   A Short Story by Patricia Edmisten (Peru 1962-64) I had just left the National Museum of Women in the Arts in Washington, D.C. looking for a restaurant before my 2:00 P.M. reservation at the Holocaust Museum. A light rain fell, but I had my umbrella. I was on 14th Street and New York Avenue, walking by kiosks run by East Indians and many other ethnic minorities. It was an international bazaar, specializing in souvenirs from our capital city. I loved it. I continued to browse when a middle-aged man, probably homeless, grabbed me around the waist. I was so startled that I hit him with the plastic bag of note cards I carried from the Women’s Museum. It was instinctive. The man shambled off and I, feeling angry and confused, entered Old Ebbit’s Grill where I ordered a glass of white wine and some lunch. It was not . . .