Sunday, March 28, 2010

Café Nell, 9 A.M.



During the tail-end of breakfast, B's unfinished,  it was possible to commandeer, after superficial politeness, the remainder, to shoo it all onto the plate extended by sturdy wrists, and, being solicitous of the washers, making sure to complete the catsup ponds, and those puddles having dried, to move the home fries by the dollop dish of jam, fishing out the odd, accidentally sunken ones, saving them from that drowning and more constructively applying them to a living appetite.


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