Andrea and I had dinner and coffee in Alameda. As we were driving back to Berkeley, we mused on the incredible privilege of being born in this country. "There's people eating dirt," she said. "My problems are no big deal."
"I don't know," I said. "Somewhere there's a person in Haiti saying, 'At least I'm not Andrea.'"
Fortunately, we share enough of the same sense of humor that she laughed rather than punching me out.
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