The elderly gentleman who greets us shoppers as we enter Walmart props himself stooped-upright with a cane. He leans slightly forward on it, right hand placed on top of the left hand placed on the cane’s curve-handled head. When he’s not greeting, I see him in an electric shopping cart. He must hurt, standing there good-morning everyone. His greetings must be pained greetings. I make it a point to walk over and good-morning him back; too often, far too often, his salutations are ignored or given only a glancing, drive-by return. I like that Walmart hired him. I dislike that Walmart makes him stand there, bent and gaunt. I feel doubled every time the double double-doors swoosh open and I see him there. I feel tripled, really, for then I wonder why I’ve gone and made this about me.