Would you drive two hours for tacos?
A personal essay about sharing and showing up
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We kept our balance on a bench that was never meant for two grown adults—a dark oil colored wood, weathered, uneven and streaked white held a matching set of odd shaped benches tucked close to rear edge of a food truck. Our knees cramped beneath the table our styrofoam containers laden with minced chicken tacos, the scent of…
