February 23,
2001
But every night, before I make the last turn towards home, I think about everywhere else I could get to, if I just kept going.
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February 23,
2001 |
Learning, finally, to stay in one place for a whole winter, without running away: what the roof of the garage is like, night after night, how the lilac branches ice and break, that the woman at the bus stop wears a skirt she either loves or hates every Friday.
But every night, before I make the last turn towards home, I think about everywhere else I could get to, if I just kept going. |
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