He is reading on the couch with his feet up. I am reading on a chair with a bowl of soup balanced on my knee. I seem to have landed at the house at the end of my commute and completely missed my home. I don't have much to give, but I would like to give something. I offer to darn the holes in his socks with the noodles from my soup. He declines.
jolie laide
I started this when I lived in Brooklyn and struggled for grace in a city that grants moments of beauty and ugliness breathtakingly close to one another. Now I live in a place where things are a different kind of ugly and the beauty is pedestrian. I struggle with that.
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