On Sunday morning, my grandmother took me to the county fair after church. A surprise. “We’ll have treats but don’t tell your mother.” When we pulled onto the fairground and parked, she sparked a cigar. Took a drag, put it out, then spruced herself with the perfume she kept in the glove compartment. “Don’t tell your mother about that either,” she said. And I smiled.
Coffee for a slow morning.
Coffee to be savored.
