Monday, August 30, 2010


I had brunch of Sunday and my waitress looked oddly familiar. She was around 20, tan, short black hair, petite. I couldn't stop staring at her. She gave me the oddest feeling, and it took half of my fried chicken meal to finally understand it. She reminded me of my mother, a younger version that is.

My mother is tan, short black hair, petite, and she used to be a waitress.

So I stared at this young woman and wondered where she would be in 25 years. I wondered if she would have a son and what he would be doing.

I had no money on me that day, and therefore couldn't contribute to the bill. I was a baby, letting other people take care of me.


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