I feel like Marcel Proust. As I dunk the scone (Blair made) into my coffee, I can recall the coconut chocolate chip cookies from Hayes’ bakery in Winsted. I remember the store, the little old ladies, the box, the string. In fact, I can remember the details of each day of my life up until now. I can recall what songs were playing in the late 60s (“Traces of Love”? I mean, really), what I wore (3 sizes smaller), what I ate, what everyone said (especially cringeworthy comments on my part). Were all of this more interesting, I might write it down. |
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