She sat under her penguin blanket, brows furrowed, thoughtful, worried, always worried, but also annoyed. She said “It’s because queso means cheese,” to me.
He sat in the little Japanese restaurant. The fish tank bubbled, the chef moved around behind the curtain. Sweet green tea milkshake. He couldn’t help but to murmur and admit, “I find this so comforting,” to me.
She sat at the Hungry Jacks, haggard from too much day in too few days. Someone a few seats over spoke too loud, about ‘feminism.’ She said “Can you believe this asshole?” to me.
You’re all here with me.