Riley wrote a food column in Glendale AZ. The year was 1989 and winters were warm. Rocky canyons colored in her horizon with desert shades. Writing was a lonely prestigious field of work.
Her runny eggs stuck to her coffee mug and fingers as she dozed off and on the phone. She didn't miss MW Ind upbringings with big breakfasts of sausages and eggs, a strict mother monitoring every presumption of thankfulness.
"Count your blessing!" She told her.
There were over ten thousand of those things to count and no time to finish in the busy realm of eating. Sleep was a luxury in a dream smashing society who enjoys working to eat rather than eating to work.
Her desert friends were refreshingly different from the clans of adventure and discovery. The remote quiet life in the dry desert kept out the loud traffic of gossip and brought in large numbers of hungry mouths who loved a good breakfast just like mothers.
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