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Dangerous Compassions

mousy

Last night I met a new friend. We went to a Peet’s, but he was hungry, so we went to a taqueria, and I watched him eat a chicken burrito. He was very good at eating and talking at the same time. He told me all about his life. I was a good listener but a bad talker, which is often my way.

Tonight choir practice was hellish. P can’t sing because of the work that was done on her esophagus, so we were singing alone, and we sound like crap. My voice is as quiet as the squeak of a mouse. So it doesn’t matter how well I know the songs because no one can hear me anyway.

The past few days have been excellent mail days, with all the Christmas cards, and some good letters as well.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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