Friday, November 2, 2007

Lolo my Dominican father fills his house with cigarette smoke every early morning and late evening from his bed. He talks fast and has a huge heart. I ask him to prepare a the Ethopian Limu that I brought without sugar. As the aroma fills the kitchen from the bubbling greca, stove-top espresso maker, I rock out to my reggae version of Karma Police in my room behind my sheet of a door.

The rain has stopped for now. I have a few pickers on call. We will try to pick what is left of my coffee. I might get something done on this trip!

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