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Hana Haley

A Woman Eats Alone


Emily and I meet at noon at Taix Restaurant off Sunset Blvd. The patrons are middle-aged and ordering soup. I’m wearing a pleated skirt and red t-shirt, feeling underdressed across the table from my muse. We slowly rip apart french bread and discuss weight gain and dementia. The restaurant feels like it belongs to us, so we wander in and out of rooms making clickclickclick sounds with our heels. It is an overcast day in LA and it makes me want to stay inside.