Saturday. I was taking Muriel to London for the weekend. A father daughter trip to the theater. I remembered the little girl who loved time with her daddy.
“How was school yesterday?”
She grunted, kept reading.
“Is that a good book?”
A heavy sigh. Muriel held her head, slid the book into her lap so I couldn’t see it.
Maybe it was for school? Unlikely.
I looked out the window. Farms slipped past. It looked like rain.
Probably a young adult novel. Frenetic teen versus world.
“Want to go to Gelupo? You used to love their sour cherry.”
Picture is copyright by Jerzy Kociatkiewicz. (100 words)