When Jennifer went to her car to get her cigarettes she was attacked by a man with a shovel. The man swung at her, clipping Jennifer on the shoulder and chipping the paint on the hood of the Ford wagon.
As the man raised the shovel above his head as if reloading, Jennifer pulled a small, sturdy knife from her pocketbook and stabbed him the ribs. Momentarily frozen by the searing pain, the man looked like a union worker in relief: tool aloft, crazed determination on his face.
He fell, bleeding, and the shovel tipped onto the gravel parking lot.
Jennifer found herself spitting at him as she jumped into the wagon and sped off.
She wouldn’t return for weeks.