The hot sun reminds me of a fall day in my hometown in Arizona, so I decide to eat lunch outside at a little sidewalk table.
But the reason the table was untenanted quickly becomes apparent, as the bees descend upon me and my sandwich. They land on the table, on my food, on my bag of chips, on my thermos for tea, and they refuse to leave, no matter how many times I flap my hands at them to wave them off.
Finally, one lands on my wrist, and I pull it close to my face, attempting to reason with him by saying, “It’s not for you buddy."
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