Ming’s making spaghetti for breakfast. I’m listening to holy music. Last night we went to Indian food then to A’s place where he read to me a lot.
“Everyone’s been so damaged,” I told A about a character in our book. “Sometimes it’s easier to see than others.” She had been badly burned.
Also, something about a cow who doesn’t give milk. Krishna was saying to spurn the cow.
“What if she gave you milk for years and years? You’re just supposed to let her die?” I asked.
“Maybe she never gave milk,” A said. “It’s a metaphor.” You know me.
