In Memory of Teri Garr

The soul was absolutely darling, with its disarming grin and teasing side eye complete with sparkles; for a moment, Peter distrusted the cuteness (the laugh, the head tilt) and hesitated. "Are we grading on a curve or are we rolling up to pass/fail?" the soul asked sweetly (and it was the first time Peter noticed the cane), "because I haven't even begun to pull out the stops. Wait until you see my stunt moves!" It smiled broadly, none of the pain relevant, but so much of it just there (below the surface). "Well, we ask that none of the newbies throw down," Peter said (recognizing the soul at last, his heart opening), "unless they can turn water into wine, because that's always welcome." The soul nodded. "As a side hustle, that probably cannot be beat." Darling; the soul was absolutely darling - with more depth than you could shake a proverbial stick at. "Oh, and you can leave that," Peter whispered, pointing to the cane. "No props allowed.”