How do I begin to tell the story of a life? How can I bring to paper blood?  flesh?  heart and heartbeat? . . .  I simply begin beneath skin. Rita Marie Nibasa, Author * Playwright * Poet Fast friends of many years, they sport leather backpacks and comfortably upholstered bodies. Wearing fine straw hats and comfortable shoes over much-travelled feet, they lunch in sweet-quaint spots just off the beaten path – take with them what they may that is not finished. No menus here – thick soups with rough-skinned breads and homemade butter, drinks in tall scratched glasses, roadside greens with oil and blood-red vinegar. Dutch treat and save dessert for later. They link arms and lean in to watch the other’s eyes…

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