|Photo by Paparazzimalaya|
Morgan didn't really believe in karma, but taking an Eastern interpretation of Pascal's wager, he decided it couldn't hurt to act as if there was a grand accounting at the end of life. He also believed the little things added up more so than grand gestures. When the opportunity arose, he held doors open for others, pushed all the loose shopping carts together in parking lot corrals, and slowed down for yellow lights. It was when he volunteered for Meals on Wheels that his flirting with karmic justice turned serious. He must have made a bad impression during the interview, because they assigned him to Roger.
Morgan shifted the insulated bag to one arm and knocked on Roger's door. The old man took his sweet time answering and even longer unlatching the door. Though Roger always seemed appreciative, his eyes bored through Morgan the entire visit. Morgan imagined Roger's mahogany face on the shoulders of whatever creature was to judge him in the afterlife, the same eyes seeing straight through a cynical attempt to lead a virtuous life.
Roger's apartment was filled with pictures of women. Women of all ages, races, and situations. A black woman, eyes closed, smelling a bouquet of daisies. A white woman in torn jeans and football jersey holding a fishing pole. A woman in a red headscarf flashing a peace sign in front of a polar bear exhibit. Some wrinkled, some smooth skinned, happy women, sad women, women in motion, women taking their ease, pictures scattered across all the flat surfaces of his apartment, dotting the walls in an eclectic collection of frames. Pick any picture, and Roger would tell you the woman's name.