“Moshe, I just got off the phone with the nursing home. Zeidy… he’s not doing so well”
Moshe Eliyahu Kaplan was not having a good day. His sandwich for lunch had fallen out of its foil. Now all his notebooks smelled like tuna fish.
“I don’t even like tuna fish.” Moshe slumped down next to his best friend, Aryeh.
“And I don’t like Brussels sprouts, but what’s that got to do with—” Aryeh’s nostrils flared. “Oh, ew.”
“Yeah.”
“I hate when my sandwich gets all over my backpack.”
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