I don’t remember the train ride home.

I don’t remember Penn Station or the cab or opening the door to my apartment. All I know is that I saw things on a Sunday in Autumn. I wrote them down in a little book and I gave them away and then I was lying in my dingy little bed.

I felt very still and very cool and very much a different person. At some point I stopped shaking. At some point I stopped crying. Now it was like I had woken up and there was dew on everything and everything was new. Continue reading