“Anyway,” she said, “it’s not a crime to have a podcast.”
“Yet.” he replied, envious of the sensation her weekly probe into class struggle and incorrect conduct created.
He stared down at his hands, neatly shredding a paper napkin. She played with the spongy, over-salted mess on her plate.
Her phone had chimed just when first light showed through the cracks.
His text was like 500 others he sent, forever asking the same: “The Excessive Bon Vivant? Breakfast? Eggs any side up. You can flip.”
The minutiae of their relationship cracked the air. She looked over his shoulder at the designs she had painted on the walls.
A year and a half and she still couldn’t cook eggs, and he still couldn’t stop being jealous of her success.
Last week, I played with, but didn’t finish a sunday whirl, and mlmm’s monday wordle. Like a crossword puzzle, I found more “answers” when I “picked” up the piece this morning.
image: waldiwkl @ pixabay.com