At the bottom of a jar

Near the end of my life, when I was but the traces of my former self, the girl took me from that rarely illuminated place and laid me before her so I could tell my story. I told her of the years I had spent in that cold place, waiting for my day to come.…

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Living in the Hills of Chicago

I always knew moving to a city like Chicago was one of those things I would inevitably do. The bustling fullness of it, the crash of the ‘el’ overhead, the punch of the wind off the lake, a lingering smell of bread and cement. The fact that something is always open, and there is always…

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