I got an email from my grandma the other week. I’ll copy/paste the first sentence here:

well  the  family  is  falling  apart  one  by  one,  has Lis  clled  you??

Then she went on to talk about my relatives who are dying of cancer and being sent back to jail or rehab or, although it seems physically impossible, both––before ending with this:

and  on and  on…  oh  yes my  car would n’t  start,  $650.00 later  and a cup  of the best  coffee  in town  at the    garage  it  is now  fine..Boe  and  I  both  think  I  got  had  by  the  price  but  it is done….and  as  I  said  they had  great  coffee…  Love  you  off  to church, I  better  pray  really hard…. Love  xxxx

So I started writing this:

The coffee at the mechanic was the best she’d ever had. Her son had said she’d been had on the price. Six-hundred and fifty dollars. But the coffee. It tasted like Spain and reminded her of eating grapes in Marbella with her daughter and her grandkids years ago, and the car was fixed, so even though she was in agreement with her son that she’d been had, it seemed somehow like a deal.