Psalms and tilapia

Hell wasn't looking into her eyes, it was looking out of them. Being trapped inside, looking for an exit; not even doing that, just wandering empty rooms in bewilderment.

When I got back to Phoenixville, Keith was getting started cooking. He has subscribed to Blue Basket, which seems similar to Gousto (which Claire uses in Kinghorn). He’s cooking tilapia (a fish) in a honey sauce with rice and spicy collard greens.

He’s also bought two ‘growlers’ of beer from Stables12 and he’s poured himself a pint of the 8.2% one. When he adds the honey to the hot pan there’s a huge volcano of smoke and the sauce passes through the caramelised state without stopping and heads straight to carbonised.

Unfazed, we plate up and carry the food next door to eat with his 89 year old neighbour, Audrey. She’s hardly mobile, but manages to eat the fish and rice, only refusing the greens because they were too spicy.

Keith reads her a psalm, two versions, one from a traditional translation, the other Quaker. They don’t seem similar at all to me. What do I know? Nothing about psalms, that’s for sure.