Freshly plated, uncompressed by human hands, the burger sat, over 6 inches tall. Sauce oozed down it’s sides – Deep sienna, with a hint bourbon, vinegar, and the sweat of mom’s brow.
I lifted the mound of meat to my mouth. My white tank top clung to me, the summer heat adding a touch of pink, and leaving little to be imagined.
Hot and sticky, like the summer air, the excess sauce fell – Squeezed out, like the fruit of a zamboni’d banana. There, I sat, barbeque sauce all over my bosom.
I looked up and asked, “Do any of you boys have a napkin?”
This the story of my first week at St. Mary’s Covenant of Mercy, and how I came to know a man known only as Uncle Jesse.
Freshly plated, uncompressed by human hands, the burger sat, over 6 inches tall. Sauce oozed down it’s sides – Deep sienna, with a hint bourbon, vinegar, and the sweat of mom’s brow.
I lifted the mound of meat to my mouth. My white tank top clung to me, the summer heat adding a touch of pink, and leaving little to be imagined.
Hot and sticky, like the summer air, the excess sauce fell – Squeezed out, like the fruit of a zamboni’d banana. There, I sat, barbeque sauce all over my bosom.
I looked up and asked, “Do any of you boys have a napkin?”
This the story of my first week at St. Mary’s Covenant of Mercy, and how I came to know a man known only as Uncle Jesse.