Under the gun to get this finished. Time went so slow at the end of my last life, but in this one, the days are a playing-card clothes-pinned to a bike wheel--the spokes driving it forwards, the speed frightening. Too fast to stick a finger in and stop it.
I woke sobbing this morning. In my dream my littlest had been taken from me. I was at a bar in South America drinking cranberry juice off my friend Vern's tab. I pulled a picture of my daughter from my deceased fathers wallet. I showed it to two drunken old women. My daughters hands in focus as I cried...
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