“I’ve seen you before,” she exclaims. “I was here eleven years ago,” I respond.
Seeing a cake decorated with Jack-o-lanterns and bats he asks me what Hallowe’en is.
We have raided the mess hall for a late evening snack. We smear sweetened peanut butter on processed white bread and feel like we’ve never tasted anything so good.
We are up at dawn, gazing out across the lake, eating instant oatmeal out of mugs, feeling like breakfast has never been better.
“A good meal will make you sweat. A great meal will make you cry.”