Some hidden writing I never finished.

Dug this up. I don't know what I was getting at. And I don't know when I wrote it. But if it had a resolution already, I would consider editing.

Original post:

This is not a diary, but it is an experiment:

It is four in the afternoon, and it has rained. The roads are not slick; they are steaming, but it is not like a fog. We're walking through this to get to that grocery store across the street from the church where every Sunday two decrepit Pontiacs show up in the parking lot. It is Wednesday, and we need flour for the pie or cake or tort that is made of yeast. You say it is healthy as we walk through the steam, feeling our pores open for the sweat to slide down to the tips of our noses and hang for just one second until the jolt from our bare feet hitting the pavement sends them silently plopping onto the ground only to evaporate.
They will not let us in to the Egg Store without shoes even though we are regulars...

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