There's this lady.
I've seen her before, I'm sure of it.
Sixties, white/grey hair, black rimmed glasses, potentially liberal Jewish type of face. She wears a white long sleeved shirt. Her husband is slightly taller, white balding hair, glasses.
She looks happy at the Italian restaurant; so perfectly Californian.
I imagine she has a garden. The kind that's perfect. She grows all the things she wants and they turn out just right. She reads intelligent books on public policy and Hemingway. She hardly uses the television. Her kids are grown. They do important jobs in San Francisco.
I look at her and want to cry. She's so perfect. I'm sure she's not, you know, no one is. But still.
She and her husband are discussing...presidential candidates? The new tax code? Anything, but important.
I want to be them. To eat pasta. To have the security. To be done with it all.
All in good time, my dear. All in good time.
