Close to summer night. Walk to the library and market after school. Smell of burgers in the air. Ruby shimmery strawberries. Tacos for dinner. The New Yorker’s Summer Fiction issue, plus another collection of Amy Bloom’s stories, A Blind Man Can See How Much I Love You. The thought of strawberry pie was almost as good as baking a warm pie. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe we’ll eat them one by one on the front steps. A strawberry and a book in each hand.