turns, past the pharmacy and the little bookstore that smells like old carpet and faded dreams.
But the walk feels longer every year.
I always go at noon.
Because that’s when we met.
“You can do this, Marge,” I told myself at the door. “You’re stronger than you think.”
I met Steed at Marigold’s when I was 35. It was a Thursday. I’d missed an earlier bus continue reading …
