
Staring at a street that used to be in a bad neighborhood, we sipped expensive coffee in designer cups and talked of the weather.
A My Private Coney project
Flash non-fiction, brief moments and old memories of a city and mother's emotional and physical real estate disappearing at the speed of heartbreak.
1 comment:
thinking of you on the eve of your reading... wish i could hear that first chapter...
as you read it.
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