April 19, 2011

Eating to remember is a burden of old tastes – electric can opener sous chef presides over three-bean vinegar monstrosities – but all I see are money-egg hunts with the cousins, racing towards slivers of plastic neon peeping from the truck tailpipe, and uncles snoring in seersucker suits in the recliners, full of fried chicken and coconut bunny cake.

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