Oofta

In St. Paul, Y. takes me to Mancini’s for steak sammies and a dirty martini. She tells me about the short stories she’s working on, all of them circling around toxicity within the body. The Subaru she drives has heated seats, we cross the Mississippi. Oh, to get used to an everlasting winter. In Powderhorn Park, northern cardinals (Rotkardinale) are calling from the trees, as if they were still warning the neighborhood about approaching ICE vehicles. Meanwhile 🌸 peak cherry blossom 🌸 is already over in Portland.