What is happening where you are?

We mustn’t ignore what is happening in Washington but we mustn’t also ignore what is happening where we are.

Where I am, at our local french bakery, a man in a striped sweater – red and blue – is smiling fondly at a woman (I’m guessing she’s his sister). Her satin-lined fur coat is carefully folded over the chair beside her. His green baseball jacket over the chair next to that.

At the next table, an elderly couple share an apple turnover and a single cup of coffee. At the next, a man, in a brown baseball cap and gray hooded sweatshirt, slowly makes his way through a cinnamon brioche. He eats it with a knife and fork as he reads the local paper.

The owner of the bakery sits at the bar, dressed in his white chef’s uniform and clogs. A calculator and a bottled water on the counter before him, he stares through the window. Just outside, a white van has pulled to the curb to pick up a disabled teenager and his aide. After folding and stowing the wheelchair, the driver checks his cell phone before climbing aboard. They pull away.

What is happening where you are?

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