It started with a baby sneaker resting on the handrail in the second-floor staircase.
Tim said, "You've got cruise control and you're going to try and not read and write while you're driving?"
A family of white wizards sits in the half-circle booth across from us at Beirut Gardens. A young mom with stripper hair, wearing all pink and ugg boots with breast cancer ribbons embroidered on the toes, talks to her son about how some people just don't like other people's food as she scrapes her tongue off with a napkin.
I like jewelry made from broken things. Last year, Bethany gave me a ring she had made from her grandmother's broken rosary. Andy said that we should have saved glass from the shattered windows of the totaled van.
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Driving with the windows down on a balmy Devil's Night listening to "Billie Jean" slowed down, then climbing up to a deserted fifth-floor dead-end, shining our flashlights on someone's drawing of a man with the words WELCOME TO ALCATRAZ above him.
