My Sinking Ship
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It was in early October, at the beginning of the school year, and I had just returned from work. My neighbor was in the lane in front of his house, busily sweeping the narrow sidewalk, and I greeted him. He comes every day to open up the house, water the plants, and tend to one thing or another. He takes immaculate care of the old homestead, though no one lives there anymore. He’s all about preserving the past.
He was surprised to see me—wasn’t I home earlier than usual?
No—fewer hours this year
He was surprised to see me—wasn’t I home earlier than usual?
No—fewer hours this year
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