There's tea in the cupboard!

Maybe it's yours, maybe it's someone else's

DEAR READER,

On Monday I stood on the sidewalk in the hot sun outside of Seneca Place with the prison education director (who reminds me of Pete Buttigieg), and as he was walking away, I heard someone holler my name.

It was Ingrid, driving an SUV, stopped at the red light. She’d rolled the window down to call out to me. In her lap she held a fat black-and…