Striking a lighter may be the most intimate contact of my day.
It fills up the potholes and stripped-away concrete in the streets and makes an already rough commute sluggish. In the summer, it rains almost every afternoon, as if the city itself hits a breaking point right around 2 p.m. — “all right, it’s just too hot” — and gives up and breaks down in storms.
I bounce my knee when I get nervous or anxious, so I did that for a while underneath my desk.
He should be home Thursday, or Friday. No particular time is better than another.
Teaching writing at Orleans Parish Prison