Gaza, cont’d


Wondrous and amazing, I texted to John this morning. Your moo-moos’ milk from twelve (12!) days ago is still good. Sweet as ever. I had some great Cheerios.

He and Jennifer have cows. Every morning he slogs out there and robs them. He fills our half-gallon jar when we’re ready for fresh, and we drive over to collect it. We transfer it to two clinky glass bottles, easier for pouring.

Shaqoura’s people—evidently they do get milk. I guess flash dried, same as the peppers. He must’ve reconstituted it with some jugged water, if those are whole potfuls he’s dumping.

 


 

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