few more hours it may actually dry. I hope so, because last week's
clothes, which stayed wet most of the week, smell like old cheese.
As we hung up the clothes, Amai came home with her morning harvest, a
huge squirming pot of caterpillars the size of my toes. I fear we will
be invited over later to partake. I can understand why she would eat
them. I too am growing tired of the market's slim pickings of tomato,
okra, green beans. Every day.
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