Overheard while walking home with two black plastic bags
filled with fresh fruit, a “mother” reading in a singsong voice to a rapt
toddler from what looks like either a fussy greeting card, the ones with multiple
hard-board pages, or a pocket children’s book, the kind that flies out the door
from the cash counter at independent bookstores, “His favorite place was
Starbucks . . .”
Next: Running for Your Life: When Training Isn’t the Goal
