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65 After a Disagreeable Conversation One Continent Away I slice cherries thick enough to attack like apricots or plums. The knife we bought together enters the waxy skin of each, separates glistening pink flesh, reveals a dark center. Even to my taste for excess, they are sweet. I am embarrassed by a dozen pedantic reprimands stomping over the petty geography of my brain, but I am also angry and keep jabbing until slabs of cherry, stems and pits moved to one side, pile across my new olive cutting board, which I only unwrapped and began using today. The board is small, but I love its rough shape, an unnamed border state with sensuous topographical grains. I try to be gentle with the knife to avoid scarring, but also need to know how tough the wood is, how durable the finish. When I bought the board I decided it would have to do the job, that I didn’t need just a curio from another regretted stay. ...

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