By Thomas O’Connell
I’m not sure why, it’s not like I knew him well. When I started dreaming, he was there – sitting across from me at some mall food-court. “What are you doing here,” I asked.
“I came to see you.”
“We’ll figure that out together.”
Then he pushed his chair back from the table and left. “Wait,” I called. It’s not like I was still drunk. Like I am the only person who’s ever run a light. Like the city shouldn’t have put in a cross-walk years ago. I woke unsettled. My lawyer says she won’t put me on the stand.
“i write so that i do not forget…” – the writer