On cool, non-mosquito days, I crawl into the tea house and sip Earl Grey. I find it returns me to my childhood invisibility, the invisibility I thought I had high in Mimi's chinaberry tree.The folks in the cul de sac right outside the tea house don't know I am there, so I hear interesting conversations. For some reason, lots of folks choose the cul de sac for romantic meetings and fiery break-ups. The dialogue is intriguing for my writer soul. I remember Steinbeck used to pay Mexican immigrants 50 cents a story. I get mine gratis.
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