The agreed target was 37.
Once we reached it we could stop and eat beans.
This was the classic end-of-the-trail food.
Only one cook out of a hundred got it right.
The road was more valuable than the goal.
A hill of beans.
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We slipped a bit, then as a ray of sun gilded its way upon as, we gained traction.
Some of these days we only need one grain of sweetness to transform the world into our own lavish playground.
A slice for you and one for me.
Let me choose first.
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Contemplate.
What a word.
Such a useful thing to do.
Or a subtle delay towards deciding.
Or a joyful interlude.
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