The Golden Boy

Scion, old money

Finds me on a couch, says we

Should eat at the school

Of culinary

Arts nearby. No longer mad

At me; my anger

Evaporated.

I am having cocktails for

Breakfast again. The

Mirror shows my face,

Sun burnt. We chat about crowds,

Anxiety and

Vaccines, descending

By elevator through the

Thronging masses. He

Sees my face under

The mask, and he is friendly

This time, we are friends.

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