“May I have a candy?” I ask my wife as I drive us to the coast on a warm early-summer morning.
“Sure. Here’s a pink one. I don’t like the pink ones.”
“Why not give me one that I like?”
“Which ones do you like?” she asks.
I pop the candy in my mouth, savouring my answer.
“The pink ones,” I reply.
the wound-up string
sparkling with sand