Breakfast
Cinnamon rolls.
Actually - frosting. Or glaze.
"You smell nice," he says. "Like breakfast in California."
She smiles and laughs through her nose and fiddles with rubber bands and never really looks right at him.
"Can you make a fist for me, Sweetie?" she purrs.Â
She taps and pinches and never really looks right at him.
He tells her a story about a rubber band that he found in the wild a few years back. HUGE! He carried that thing around in his garden jacket for months; even wrote about it a couple of times.
She applies pressure and a Band-Aid and never really looks right at him.
"You're good to go, Hon," she says. "Thank you for telling me your stories."
She sits for a few seconds with her hands in her lap and really, really looks right at him.
"You know you really do smell like breakfast, right?" he asks.
(Nov 15th, 2012)