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.