Jose is alive, everyone!
I saw him at the 7-Eleven this morning. At first, he was in the back, so I resigned myself to the certainty that he had either died or been fired. But, suddenly, I hear someone say either, "Oh, man" or something in Spanish upon seeing me, and then he came right over and said, "Good morning!" He has a blonde streak in his hair now. I noticed. Jose is alive!
Is it a coincidence that this should occur the happy day Michael Phelps is in Chicago? Probably. But with all the other garbage going on, it makes me happy (for about two seconds) to know the Mexican who is enough in love with me to gift me with free coffee and the man with the body of my dreams are both alive and well and in the same city.
Maybe everything else will work out too. Maybe.
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