That was a good one, she said, but bread pudding?
I thought you reminded me we had bread pudding.
I don’t remember that. I don’t think we had bread pudding.
Oh.
I think you better say something about that.
—
So I say it here. There was no bread pudding. I suppose I should say this in confession, but I won’t, because with views like this the next morning,
perhaps we can consider the bread pudding to be a metaphor for what a wonderful hike Gabrielle conjured up for us.