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She gave up waiting for those little doughnuts dripping fat. She gave up waiting for piroski, for pan au chocolat, for Bolivian food on a flower laden deck. She headed to another source of comfort,
DeLaurenti's, where she admired all the oils, the vinegars, the salts, the pastas, the chocolates.
And landed a window seat whereupon she happily stuffed herself with pizza and macaroons while watching all the tourists in every manner of dress, shape, ethnicity, and taste.
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