A love affair, rekindled.
French fries. Hot. Crispy. No, really, crispy. Not used-to-be crispy or came-out-of-the-oven-but-no-more crispy. Straight up crispy. On a plate. Outside. At a restaurant. With people and wait staff. With conversations and smiles and dogs under tables. With people watching people strolling up and down the street. With a cool breeze, not a cold draft. After a long, oppressive Covid quarantine winter replete with soggy takeout, he and his wife returned to a restaurant. Their first return in the early spring season. So much that used to be taken for granted that no longer is. All summed up with fresh French fries. Oh, and also a cup of coffee in a ceramic cup. That you could get refilled. The little pleasures. How nice to rediscover them, and appreciate them like a toddler heading to McDonalds for the first time.
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