A squeezed orange colored the sky.Vinyl scratches. The scent of evergreen fading to exhaust pipe, the one tied up by a wire hanger. I bought my first car at 19. Thursday evenings at YJ’s for Pad Tai, followed by a walk around the four corners of Westport. Portland by my side. Scales of a piano, and a good many questions ending in, “…do you know what I mean?” History is written in fragments. I remember more since she said yes.
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