Ten.Six Hundred & Forty-Four
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I wake up after he tells me he pulled me over for going 34 in a 30 zone.
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Light is creeping in.
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I put a $5 in the tip jar and start to walk out the door without the donuts. Then I realize my hands are empty. We both laugh and wish each other a good day.
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Why does it feel like everyone is yelling?
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Sometimes the bare minimum is the most you can do.
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I move the chair to into the shade but stick my legs out in the sun. Sanctuary. I’m craving sanctuary. I want to just lay down in the sun on a blanket.
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We walk down the street to the open house. Now we know why it still hasn’t sold.
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He points out all the birds of paradise in the yard. I didn’t realize we had more than one. All of them are blooming.
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We watch the hummingbird float in between us. “This is why we moved to California,” he says.
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Making home.