Ten.Two Thousand, Five Hundred & Forty
Sleeping in.
Decaf in the tiny mug. The heat of it is burning the tips of my fingers.
More stats.
Where are they?
Ray Ray’s for the queso, even though I told myself I would be cutting back on the dairy.
Why is it so hot?
Listening to the three of them talk a mile a minute. I think again about how fleeting the time is. I hope they sit at the counter like this two years from now. The conversations will be different, but the amount of laughter will be the same.
Sheet-pan ravioli.
C-.
But, I mean. Isn’t it just so much better when it’s clean?
