Poetry. We get a seat in a booth. All the waitresses know Jack. None of them know me. As a matter of fact, all the cooks know Jack too.
We sit. We gossip. We talk about poetry.
I like thinking of Jack saying, 'I was reading ______' s poems and enjoying the hell out of them.'
We eat. I always (always) get a short stack of blueberry pancakes and a side of bacon. Tea. Jack gets coffee, and sometimes bacon. Usually eggs. Some...
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Poetry