Eating at the local diner for my usual breakfast this morning, a magazine in front of me open to an article about vigilantes and gun control, minding my own business. Next to me, a group of older women sit around their empty bowls of noodles gossiping. The one with a new perm makes to leave. Another tells her not to forget her mask. “This is fucking ridiculous,” she says. Our eyes meet. She smiles. The brightest teeth I have ever seen in a long time. “So, you do understand,” she says.
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