She: fettuccine. He: calzone.
Stella enjoys subtle softness while Maurice craves crunch; every single Sunday lunchtime. It’s the same window seat in the same restaurant over a roll of years, nothing changes. People come and go, and some never show again. It’s just them gazing through the usual window, where she sees everything in muted tones and he in sharp reflections of things which never were. He sees the children passing them by and the elderly approaching—he sees his whole life in crust. She draws sweetness onto her tongue and tries to speak Italian while taking herself someplace else.
Angela has written for as long as she has memory. Life is one long story with many sub headings. She also enjoys getting inside heads. English degree/loves anything creative. Anglo-Indian heritage. One husband, three children, five grandchildren. Life is good, Enjoys good political debate.
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