Inside Out, Outside In

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This is what happens when you live in a teeny-tiny apartment squashed atop a pizza shop and billowed in pot smoke and profanity. You optimistically name your little plot “Pie in the Sky,” you cook whopper disasters in a chintzy oven, you make out like parakeets (long story — ask my husband), you pray a fistful of grateful prayers, and you do most of your living outside, filling in the cracked plaster and covering up the pricey heating bill with the glories of creation.

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