I trip over your chair, an embarrassing entrance, but it makes for an immediate introduction. We shake hands. You’re pleased to meet me. You describe things as wonderful or heartbreaking. Under the first agenda point, I volunteer a project idea. Pens scribbles and I write it down myself, to remember, to join in. You touch the collar of your leather jacket and speak of women in prisons. The air is full of tentative, eager exchanges, with something in it sad and regretful. I drink a peppermint tea. We all do. This speaks volumes about the type of people we are.
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