Mr. Lucky died. I found out he died the same way I learned he was alive, in a post on Facebook between a political rant and a photo of last night’s dinner. Just yesterday I saw photo of him and his adopted brother, Mr. Max. They were sleeping the way small animals and children do, in a mix of limbs forming a…

My friend’s new husband used to deliver Maya Angelou’s mail. They changed his route last year, so he doesn’t anymore, but he used to. As soon as I heard, I imagined taking a trip. The town they live in couldn’t be more than six or seven hours away. I could be there in the same amount of time it takes me to…