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no room for hipsters

the occupation of Ashley and Levon

We were walking yesterday to our neighborhood Food For All when I decided to document the pregnant lady, 8 weeks to the day.  She got totally emotional about it, but then it passed.

People ask me how she’s doing.  I lie to them.  “Fine,” I say.  But by “fine” I mean normal for the first trimester, which implies covered with blankets and asking for food then pushing it away, running over to the wastebasket to throw up and never getting to, and being upset about what I consider the least of our concerns.  That’s what I mean by fine.

We’re going to Food For All at the Fergusons’.  Lentil soup and cheese bread they said, and I’m grateful because it got her moving.  Tonight FFA is at our house and we’re making pizzas.  20 people will come pick it up, we each cook once a week in pairs of couples.

I said, “Ashley come with me.  The cheese bread will be cold by the time I get home.”

She came forth.

I don’t know how this shot got in here.

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