On one of the beets we picked yesterday, I saw a green thing. “Oh look,” Ming said. I thought it would be a bug. But it was a piece of green glass stuck to the skin of the beet.
This morning I was handing out bread at the soup line. Ming went to help someone old serve soup, so I was alone. Someone touched a piece of bread, and another person told him, “Don’t touch the bread!”
“Why don’t you mind your own business?” the other guy replied. It didn’t escalate too bad.
Someone outside is whistling. I wrote a poem yesterday. And that’s a nice jumble of facts.