chesed shebnetzach
It was months ago that I told the Friends that I looked forward to coming back, but today, once more, is not
the day. We walk up Sanitas, all nine of us, climb back down, get lunch. She somehow doesn’t know after seven years
that I don’t like vinegar and sea salt potato chips, always thought I’d just been generous to give her the whole bag.
There’s some more time to figure such things out, and for now, my barbecue style is one dollar and a few cents
before the tip. I have a child on my leg, another in my arms, oh so briefly. And so we turn again.
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