You donât want the meal, you want the company. You want the collective chewing, the instinct leading in unison: yes, we are only human and this is what we need. The smell of apple-smoked charcoal lingering in your hair, the cubes of salt and flakes of pepper picked out of your teeth, the hearty laughter and the sudden realization of fullness like your spirit is a popcorn kernel popping into a fluffy yellow beadâ a small but striking difference between the senseless hunger and the heartfelt need.
The picnic table
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Lizzy Burnam đ 