They say it will be 98 degrees tomorrow. The only thing keeping me from throwing up is my beloved box fan and the vat of fruit soup I just made.
A lot has changed over the past 12 months. Soon I'll be departing Brooklyn for greener pastures. And colder winters. And a horrible mall called Destiny.
Most important, I'm now making the fruit soup with plums.
Which sound like a vaguely Shakespearean term for testicles.
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