There are ghosts here.
“Ten floors. They say that’s ten stories, but trust me, there are more stories here than you can count.” That’s what Bob likes to say.
‘I don’t want it to be over.’
There is a tree growing in my living room and there doesn’t seem to be anything I can do about it.
“Papa,” the boy called, “I can’t fit everything in this.”
They had the outdoor part of the cafe to themselves. NYC summer heat and humidity had chased everyone else away.
From the newsagents where we stole penny sweets
To the front gate where I skinned my shin.