




Glistening spinach and Chorizo atop thick tender scallops arrive in front of me Saturday night. The plate sits next to the mason jar filled to
Each time it comes, I run, filled with curiosity and glee, pick up the strangely light box; hopes not quite shattered. It is a box.
thirty on paper in truth, it’s twenty it’s all I have yours, ours, mine 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th and then– twenty to eat, rest, talk–