In his absence, Bob’s world was unalterably changed—torn up and rearranged.
At first, I only hear it when I get up to pee at night, and it seems to come from the exhaust vent.
The moist air is already sticking to your arms at 7:00 AM, the pores in your armpits twitching like a horse in a starting gate.
“How long do you want to live?” Bob asks over a steaming bowl of fried cabbage
As the details around the insurrection settled into my chest like a bad cold, I realized it had shattered my belief that regardless of our political leanings, we were all Americans who held some things sacred.