On my bookshelf, sandwiched between old high school yearbooks and college-era journals, is a pleather-lined and laminated menu from a diner 3,085 miles from my apartment.I didn't intend to steal it.On a trip to Boston in 2018, I stuck it in my tote to make room for plates of syrup-saturated French toast and doughnuts coated in cracking glaze.
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