A straight line. My house, to the train, to the airport. To security, and through it. Down an escalator, a coffee – too bitter – board the plane. I exhale…
-
-
I’ve got my hands on the steering wheel of a shitty rental car. Frankie is buckled into her booster in the back seat. I’m smug. I’m on time. There’s the…
-
January heartbreak is the worst kind. Nothing to buffer it. Days are shorter, dark is darker, and slush abounds. The walls are quiet. Stark. He was gone. Twenty-three years-old and…
-
A bowl of dried-up Cheerios on the counter, flakes of croissant, cups of half-drunk coffee. Today is almost nine months since Easter weekend, when he and I knew that part…