So cold.

Coffeecake from a box while the coffee brews.

I stuff my bag with things for the day: a computer, a water bottle, a notebook, leftover caesar salad, a tote bag full of snacks for the bus ride home.

No Zooms until after lunch.

I tell him that I am still angry. So angry that I could cry.

The crunch of gravel underfoot. The warmth of the sun. Clear blue sky. The yellow of the mustard.

Always waiting for one.

I take the blame on this one. I could have done something different. She tells me that there really wasn’t much more I could have done.

She says she’s reading James Patterson. We laugh. Then they talk about books and how expensive it is to them. I tell them about Thriftbooks. “I’m just glad to hear you spend money on books,” I say. “Well, I spend money on other things, too,” she says.

So, so hungry.