One hundred and twenty hours after my mother took her last breath, we gathered around a deep hole and covered her casket in roses.
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One Hundred and Twenty Hours
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Women in Black
The water shimmers baby blue beneath a blushing pink sky and it seems Bob and I are the only people on earth.
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End of Empire
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.
We opened the door and peered in at what had once been a hub of activity, our old kitchen, all tore up and abandoned.
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EXIT PLAN
“How long do you want to live?” Bob asks over a steaming bowl of fried cabbage