morning coffee and a letter awaiting, orders to ship, and a kid who wants to play the millionth game of uno and do water colors and sip my coffee while giving a piercingly long concert. All I want to do is read the letter and do my work and drink my own coffee. And then I read the letter and I’m reminded how fleeting these years are. And so we paint and laugh and the rest, I’ll get to… eventually.

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