Where the people have unkempt hair, sporty jackets and a chip on their shoulder.
A place where books are piled up behind the door and there are blue willow mugs, and Little Debbie cakes on the kitchen table.
Scrubby pines clinging to the side of a mountain, stubborn and tenacious like the woman serving coffee.
An old man in a blue sweater, who tells us that no matter why we fight, always start each morning with, “Good morning sweetheart. How did you sleep?”
Eating crab cakes in a restaurant, clam chowder at a bar.
Drinking Moscow Mules and blueberry champagne and arguing over how long it takes us to get ready in the morning.
Getting lost and listening to Modest Mouse. Asking forgiveness. Memorizing each other’s scent.
It’s the world between worlds and just before life changes, there is a taste as sweet as honey.