Ten.Two Thousand, Five Hundred & Twelve
These foggy summer mornings are my favorite. Quiet and cool. Sweater weather. Hot coffee weather. Hands tucked beneath your armpits, kind of weather.
He’s going to be excited about this one in particular.
You live here long enough, and you can tell who’s a local and who’s a tourist. It’s the way they’re always looking around. And you remember how you were once them.
Birthday pastries and a balloon.
Two carnitas and an al pastor.
Wait. I thought the goats were gone?'
Stretching, but also realistic.
Knowing when too much of a thing is bad for you.
I was right. He can’t read my handwriting.
A key lime pie full of candles.