As of today, I am the proud owner of a Bakugan. Its name is Lumagrowl, and its tail is made of swords.
Conveniently, the right kind of metal makes it spring open, like the metal on my closet.
Thank you, my 11-year old cousin. I receive this gift toy with honor.
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Today I held down the fort at the cafe all by myself, and consequently had some really interesting conversations with my regular customers. Like the Englishman who always orders British tea. Today I learned that when he was my age, he came to New York City from England and decided to stay in America after falling in love with a “Yank.” Or the computer programmer who always seems uncertain about himself when he orders, who was raised in a Catholic home, but didn’t seem to have a faith. We talked about religions.
Or the window washer who came in and asked if I wanted his services. He was an African-American man who looked about fifty-eight and spoke with a rather quiet and rough voice. Knowing the windows were filthy outside, I asked how much it would cost and agreed when he said $10. It was strange; I had a sort of immediate compassion/love for this man I had just met. I asked if he wanted some water, but he just asked for ice and handed me his plastic cup that was already about half-full of the stuff.
I watched him work outside with his squeegee while I wrapped silverware, marvelling at the simple beauty of clean windows.
He finished, I paid him and topped off his ice, and he was gone. His name was Mitchell.
I sort of got the feeling I had entertained an angel.
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