A Tin of Old Photographs Revealed Why a Best Friend Kept Helping

her, wondering how I would explain the move to a room that was not our own.

At ten past ten, I carried the first stack of books down the narrow stairs to the trunk of my car. The July heat was already rising from the blacktop, thick and smelling of hot tar.

The bus to the north side of town was two dollars, but I drove my old sedan continue reading …