The touch at my elbow threatens to snap- I'm not sure which bone would break, mine or theirs, but there is something brittle about this guiding hand. Avian and hollow. Or non-existent since the beginning. I'm really not sure. That presence has been replaced by the maitre d' and he's telling me tonight's specials are bone marrow and osso bucco.
by Shelly Holder of Duarte
