The Old Tissue Auntie

The old auntie trembled waif-like, as thin as the pillar next to her. And her stiffly-loaded, anonymously-red polythene bags stood up better than she did. She would look around, from time to time, for any kind and benevolent soul.

And then she saw me. Waving to me, she signalled for my help. Gallantly, I trotted over. She broke out into a wide toothy grin, save for a couple of missing incisors.

"Oh thank you, thank you so much..." she gushed.

I glanced at her bags, which were standing stiffly at attention.

(Multiple layers of plastic bags? That's... strange. And where's the groceries/aluminium cans?)

"Ah... you want to help me?"

She deftly bent down and plucked a couple of well-hidden tissue packets out of one of the big bags.

Grinning even more toothily, she quickly moved in for the kill:

"You wan'too buy tissue paper?"