backforthmenu Just a Coke. In the glass at Taco Bell I see the reflection of a beautiful woman pushing a baby stroller across the street. I calculate the origin of the reflection and begin to turn in her direction to look. “May I take your order please?” asks a young Latino kid from inside the little window. “Sure. Extra large Coke. That’s it.” Refocus on the reflection—gone. “That’ll be $1.28” As I place the money in his hand, a voice comes from the left. “Excuse me, sir...” A beggar. I look over. It’s the beautiful woman with child in stroller. She continues, “I was supposed to see my mother today for some money—do you have 50 cents or a dollar for a burrito? My son is hungry.” She’s ragged, has on plastic-chrome mirrored glasses, her beauty in the distant past. The baby stroller is dusted with road wear, the child tousled, dirty faced and staring at me. I give her a dollar. “Your Coke, sir.” 5/8/94