pulse and
an unexpected turn how
i once yelled at my friends dad in brazil as he drunkenly hugged mountain corners in a minivan.
where am i. i am a man running out of his own dead dad's money. we sold his humble little townhome. the one that looked like the one next to it and the one next to it and the one next to it.
in a community of old people in a suburb of old people.
but dad you are alive. i don't mean to call you dead dad. you are alive. i hear your midwestern melancholy warmed by 50 years of the southern california sun.
how brave you were. i wonder if anyone ever told you. not about the cancer and how you fought it but how you lived your life and made a home somewhere else and stayed.
i remember how you used to light manischewitz candles on the days your own parents had died. so i will do that too, this time for you.
in twenty days it will have been a year.
and
