It’s been one of those weeks. Plans upended for more pressing matters. Creativity in inconvenient bursts. And in the midst of it: what to make for dinner? So I turned to a trusty standby. One that tastes like summer and fall at once.
Our landlord pounded on the front door. So I got up from the dinner table, opened the door, and stood agape as he puffed himself up and screamed at my partner and me. His face reddened and spit-soaked fuck-bombs came flying out of his mouth.
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