![]() Our streets are made of recycled plastic dredged from the ocean, millions of kilometers. I glared at them, shoved my arms into the coat, grabbed mitts and stamped out for coffee with a mushroom. “Probably light tan, like common fungi,” replied Nan, a botanist. Since then?” demanded Nancy, holding out her orange coat to me. “When’s the last time you went on a date?” ![]() Nancy reminded me I had a coffee date tonight. I lurched downstairs, complaining bitterly. “We regret to tell you … excellent qualifications … keep you on file …” ![]() I’d done three virtual interviews already. The homes were built like seeds around a core community centre/greenhouse. Three weeks later a message tingled my wrist: a middle-years class on Wînipâkw Bay, a gorgeous new village nearby.
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