On an airless July night:
A Honeywell fan two feet away. A MacBook and pen and paper on the coffee table, next to two boxes of tissues because allergies have attacked me this summer. A Boston magazine and a page ripped from The Boston Globe Magazine. A novel by Megan Abbott and a biography of E.B. White, the Film Noir Classic Collection Vol. 1 set (Murder, My Sweet in the DVD player), and an empty Popsicle wrapper. The sound of my neighbor coming up the front steps. Remembering that I have to send out thank you notes, jotting down a reminder to reschedule that doctor’s appointment, and the realization that sometimes, when I look up at the sky, I think of my childhood.