It's really always been soup.
or, How To Make Things In America
Snatch your joy, wherever you can.
Grief, it seems, abounds this week, and I suppose we’re the tiniest bit lucky that it already coincides with a very casserole-heavy one.
some notes on loss, nostalgia, and growing up
"It happens in the inbetween."
It's still August, I guess?
And tomatoes feel like something.
Slot machines, bourbon on the rocks, & the writing of letters.
I hope we all get to hug each other very soon.
