Oh to be here.
Nearly lunchtime and everyone waiting on the terrace for the maitre’d to toot his horn. A sort of maitre’d anyway. Hard to know, what with a childhood spent living at the Plaza with a dining staff that stretched in a line all the way from the kitchen doors to the Palm Court, but ending up in a senior lady apartment with meals with white tablecloths, everything cut up into tiny bits so you can eat it all, no matter how few teeth you have left. Getting the occasional BLT smuggled in and meeting the delivery boy by the parking lot, but not every day, just the ones when only one cane is needed so one has a free hand for a paper bag stuffed with potato chips.
my new short fiction piece published to my Substack at the link if you’d like to read the rest. It has two images with it, this one being in the collections of the Boston Public Library
https://sarahbguestperry.substack.com/p/an-envisioning-1998-and-late-june
