Five. Past. Seven.

Five nights a week for two years. Every evening at five past seven. Of course it also happened the other two nights of the week, except that I wasn’t there. Those were her nights. Five past seven was when Marcello the Romanian went home to walk his dog. A sea...

Not actually a test.

I have been thinking a lot about exit strategies. Not that I’m going anywhere. Definitely not at the moment. But when Selma and I are done here …. or when we’re on Skabbatical… What do I really truly want my people to know? What types of things can I...
The Fluent Self