A Woman In Labor
Barbara Hillman fidgets. She hugs herself as she rocks forward, the index and middle fingers of her left hand grasping an invisible cigarette and beating a tattoo against her right arm. She sticks out her chin, purses her lips, arches her eyebrows, peers over her black-rimmed reading glasses–the right earpiece connected to the frame with what looks like a hunk of paper clip–and speaks quietly, deliberately, pausing between words: “We are not ....