The boy sat on a bench, his head in his hands. He had been there for a long time, really, an eternity for a boy his age. He…
The guy behind me at Starbucks is on the phone. He is young, handsome; 15 years my junior.
I’m a grumpy old man. Old at 38.
I’m angry. I’m sullen. I want to do and be someone that I have willfully, quite willfully, locked up in an attic and left for dead.
I have tied my life in Gordian knots of unfathanoble complexity.