Community dinner was at Bowers the Wednesday past, a crowded affair. The seat I swooped into had been vacated by Rebecca, a woman with curly red hair and an interesting homework assignment left behind her at the dining room table. Initially scanning the text, I was engrossed by the time she returned from dish-washing to retrieve the paper; she agreed to lend me the first half since she didn't need it for awhile.
We should have required specific language defining "awhile," because I understood this as a loan of the paper, whereas she was perplexed when she started to write an assignment that night and I had disappeared back to Haymarket, her photocopied article in tow.
Asking Mike if he could help her contact the criminal who purloined the paper, she described the perp as "The really tall woman who talks like a pirate."
And -- Mike immediately rang me.
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tales from life in a co-op
under our roof
a glassblowing alternajournalist, a musical storytelling anarcho-baptist, a capoeira-playing engineer, a renaissance physicist, a scrabble champion math teacher, a neurobiologist philosopher, a filmmaker documenting the deadliest man alive, an international flutist biologist, a journalist animator baker, a hiking biking banjo-strumming math teacher, a singing bilingual editing, a backgammon playing sex therapist, a novel-writing psych nurse guitarthlete, a pensive epistilary collage artist & two cats.