This morning, a man and a woman were sitting on a bench, just a stone-throw away from the Bainbridge Island Pavilion, basking in the warm beams of the sun and bowing their heads with respect and reverence. The wafting scents of maple leaves and savory garden herbs danced upon their faces and flirted with their nostrils. But they didn't notice
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Love & Kisses-Mom
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For me, smooth jazz is a guilty pleasure. Like picking scabs. You know it's gross and wrong, but it's comforting in a weird way.
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