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As she delicately places her cake on her tongue while looking at no one in particular, I feel she is hiding something…maybe the moon in her pink Coach pocketbook.

As he shovels large cake pieces into his mouth, I know he will tell me everything if he doesn’t choke from the enormity of it all.

But, who will be the wise one to tell me the truth of how they had come unannounced and uninvited into my locked house to sit on my worn couch and eat their pieces of dark cake today?

Side by side, they sit chewing slowly and not acknowledging my presence.

“Who are these people?” I wonder.

Just as I clear my throat to calmly and coolly ask what the hell they are doing in my living room eating cake, they leave…not through my only door or my only window. They simply disappear.

Chilled and scared on a hot May morning and forgetting my indignation, I back out of my house and sit on my porch wondering how I will ever go back.