He calls me Grace.
“Hello, buttercup,” the slouchy young man with oversized glasses says into his phone. Buttercup. I like that. I don’t think I’ve heard that one before. I’m sitting in the airport doing what I do in the airport: peoplewatching. The comings and goings, the sources and destinations written on people: their apparel, their hats, their faces. … Continue reading He calls me Grace. →
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