January 2011
2 posts
Only Wednesday
He shuffled out the door, muttering something like, “It’s only Wednesday… only Wednesday…” pulling his over-sized sweater over one shoulder, his cigarette hanging on to his bottom lip at an impossible angle.
I looked at him in a way that said, “Where are you going?” The door was almost closed, the ash from the cigarette scattered down the front of his...
All we are
are the curators of our own person museums.