Nobody was quite sure where she had come from, one of those easily overlooked Midwest states, something with an I – Iowa, Indiana, something like that; a place you were from not somewhere you were going to. I’m sure she had a name, something expected, safe, well Midwestern – but we all just called her Cinnamon Girl.

It’s probably worth noting that she wasn’t the sweet cinnamon sugar mix you load up your French toast with, no more like a spicy bite of chili that makes you ask, “whoa is there cinnamon in that?” Read more ›