Turkey Day

Some days or weeks or months or years before Mom died, I got her laughing about the Thanksgiving.

“It wasn’t that bad,” she said.

“That one guy had a bag of meth,” I told her.

“Well, he didn’t smoke it,” she responded. “He kept it in his pocket.”

True. He didn’t. But even if he did, I don’t think the night could have been any worse.

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