work piling up.
The guy with the Labrador is gone.
I used to watch him from the train window as we pulled into the suburb of Ravinia.
Only the field, yellow stumble. The dog gone, too
You haven’t come to visit me. Are you able?
Coffee, and a store-bought sandwich.
And the fog for company.
Fog rolling in. Bad coffee from the vending machine, growing cold by a store-bought sandwich. Might as well head back, says your uncle, the retired gunner, and you raise your cup in acknowledgement, but you’re thinking, might as well stay: no dishes to be done, no neighbors with their radios blaring.
Suddenly, a stranger sits down, and the first thing you notice is her pale gray eyes. What’s your name, you ask her. She tells you, tells you yours.