After my third summer in the kitchen they put me in a taxi to Superflumina.   I still insist that I don’t belong.  I am still not wearing the cover-up smile.  No doubt my weariness is plain on my face.

The taxi driver turns to me.  I could go for a soft ice cream, her voice is gentle.  There is a Dairy something nearby.   Can I treat you to a cone?

I want to say yes, she is so kind, but I have forgotten ice cream.  We have a dairy farm and we sell the milk and cream we cannot use, but I haven’t seen ice cream since I came here.

Like an automaton I say no, thank you.   I soften that with I just ate.  My smile is genuine.  You go ahead.  But she decides to get it on her way back.

God, how I miss ordinary people!