posttrauma there is before and there is after the memory of before is overshadowed by the after the painful after, the tearful after the after that lingers into the ever-after and washes over the way-before till all i know is before/after
There are three ways Americans get around the country without a car. Airplane, bus and train. Taking each method feels like a window into a different America, a different population group. You can live your whole life in this country and never take the train through the heartland, and you would never see or hear of the towns these trains pass through, and how those towns have almost all fallen...
I wake up in the middle of the night, look out the window. There’s nothing there. It’s too dark here, no evening lights, too much cloud cover. It’s raining, and I listen to the droplets. A few months ago I was on the other side of the country. I’d just dipped my toes into the fountain of the National Gallery when giant rain drops scattered across the Mall. I grabbed...