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by Robrt L. Pela
It was raining, and we were both on deadline. Neither Kate nor I wanted to go back to our apartments to write, so we went shopping for pepper grinders instead. I don’t remember if we knew we wanted pepper grinders, or if we both just found matching ones at that junky antique store where we were always buying crap back then, when we were both single, both living in that old high-rise over on Fourth Avenue.
But I do remember this, every time I look at my little copper pepper grinder: Sometimes it rains in Phoenix. And I am always on deadline.
