This morning, early am hour when as recent as a year ago I would have shot someone for abusing me in such a way as to make my eyes burn with sunlight so early, there was Joe, downstairs cooking me breakfast while I blow-dried my hair. And he does it almost every morning.
When I went to get my phone (fully charged) from the counter, next to it was a brown paper bag. Inside, one peach yogurt, one orange, one plastic spoon and a small, red and white checkered picnic napkin waiting for me to give them a ride to work.
I love Joe.