Sometimes things get better.
Like finally feeling safe enough to take a nap by the metal sculpture that at 13, I bought Florence with all the money I had just earned as a summer live-in babysitter.
Indeed, sometimes things get better.
Sunday Memories: Forgetting the Past
The Old Bag
The Exhaustion of Diaspora: Part Five - "It's the Pebble, Not the Stream"
Sunday Memories: Soothing the Savage...Pick Two