...unless you count the manager of the apartments next door. She is a rather rectangular woman with brittle-y dark hair. I only ever see her when she's smoking, but that's because the apartments are non-smoking housing and so to smoke she must come outside. She is at our Bench because it is pouring out, likely hard enough to put out a lit cigarette (you recall the Bench has an awning).
The food from yesterday remains. I expect it will be a hard sell, being partially used amounts of not very interesting foods. Maybe I'll grab the vinegar, throw it in with some laundry. Is it possible for vinegar to be rendered unusable?
I am unhappy that our election day bespoils Day of the Dead. We will not take a picnic lunch to any cemetarys, but we will think of what we might bring if we did. This makes me think of my grandmothers in particular: my maternal grandmother, for whom I'd bring one egg over easy, buttered toast and a cup of coffee; my paternal grandmother, who was so good at making food that others loved that I'm not even sure what her favorites were.
"until we die we will remember every/ single thing, recall every word, love every/ loss." -A.R. Ammons
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