Sep 16, 2022
3 min read
Playing Spoons
Fiction
It began — as far as I recall — one evening over a bowl of peaches; the tinned variety that comes sliced in sweet, clear syrup, reminding me as a boy of little lifeless goldfish.
Dessert was called pudding when served at my mother’s table, and often in those days it would come from a can and require the application of cutlery — a spoon back then, rather than the more contemporary fork. I liked…
