Molly and I giggled all the way to 68th Street. We were feeling the particular

affinity that makes everything said in a certain tone of voice hilarious; at the bodega,

we wondered who was responsible for the bizarre assortment of “impulse buys”

always available at the counter. Tiny ginger fetuses embalmed in vials, individually

wrapped Fig Newtons, Lara Bars, cellophane packs of platonically diverse pills

for “energy” and “good health”.

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