The last of our bread lines.

In the frozen parking lot of an H-E-B, my husband and I wait in a line that snakes through the pharmacy drive-thru. My shins are cold from the air my wide leg jeans let in above my fuzzy socks. A mom and her three kids stand huddled six feet in front of us, a tangle of held hands and nervous energy. Behind us, a husband and wife grumble to each other about the line. “They probably won’t have anything.” I ignore them. The week has been more than stressful; I can forgive their pessimism.

The manager comes out to greet us, looking cold in a thermal long sleeve t-shirt with a…