Dear Will
Pushing the food around my plate, hardly satisfied, I am hungry, starved indeed. But unable to taste a morsel. It’s only been a week, yet the days seem to go by like years, waiting. ‘I hope he can write soon,’ thinking to myself, looking over the dessert trolly parked all too close to my corner table. The stout waitress, hovering over me asking, ‘Would you care for anything from trolly dear?’ ‘I’m sorry, did you say something?’ I say eyeing the older, heavyset woman. ‘Yes, would you like...