Bikers Were Painting My Dead Mother’s House Pink At 4AM And I Didn’t Know Any Of Them

of things.”

We sat on that bench until the sun went down. The pink house glowed in the last light. The rosebushes waited in their soil. The oak tree moved in the wind above us.

Inside, my mother’s kitchen was clean. The spice jars were labeled. The table was set for ten. The door was unlocked.

It was always unlocked.

That was six months ago.

I sold my apartment continue reading …