Hoarding – (hawr-ding)
Compulsive acquisition and storage of objects that have little to no purpose or utility
Kim Feinhorn turned her flashers on as she rolled down the passenger window and coasted towards the sidewalk.
“Mr. Holland! Reginald!” She parked the car and jumped out, pursuing an older African-American gentleman wearing a brown suit and matching fedora.
“Damnit, woman! Now they got ya following me home?” he shouted with disdain as his pace increased.
“No. No, please wait,” Kim pleaded as she sped up to walk beside him.
Mr. Holland began to speed up again, but a slight coughing fit slowed him down.
“I’m not here to try to understand what you’re going through. I’d do things a little differently, but I respect your decision.” Kim was happy to see Mr. Holland stop and turn to speak to her.
He took his hat off and wiped his sweaty brow. While he didn’t want to admit it, the pace was too much, and this unexpected respite was very welcoming.
“Then just let me go home. I ain’t got much time left, and I’d like that time to be on my own terms.” Reginald Holland’s bloodshot eyes filled with tears. As he tried to blink them away, a single stream flowed down his aged and wizened cheek, catching the bottom of his chin then silently falling to the sidewalk.
Kim choked back her own tears, pushing the lump in her throat down into the pit of her stomach. “Let me give you a ride at least. I promise I won’t say a word.”
