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The longest day of the year

Since the winter when David read Gatsby aloud to me, chapter by chapter, I have resolved not to miss the summer solstice. (You remember it too? She looked at us all radiantly. “Do you always watch for the longest day of the year and then miss it? I always watch for the longest day in the year and then miss it.” “We ought to plan something,” yawned Miss Baker, sitting down at the table as if she were getting into bed.)

And so we had a picnic today and sat in Weinbergspark listening to a goofy Depeche Mode cover band and eating strawberry tart, amongst other things. My crème patisserie more closely resembled crème anglaise, which was a disappointment, but never mind, the leftover sauce was delicious spooned over a slice of toasted pain au lait: deconstructed French toast, the perfect bedtime snack.


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