It’s been two years since our flight to Chicago. In my little bungalow sitting-room, illuminated by the motel’s neon sign blinking inward, I give myself up to my thoughts of her – a daily ritual for me now. I think of Dahlia at home with her husband; how
It’s been two years since our flight to Chicago. In my little bungalow sitting-room, illuminated by the motel’s neon sign blinking inward, I give myself up to my thoughts of her – a daily ritual for me now. I think of Dahlia at home with her husband; how
It’s been two years since our flight to Chicago. In my little bungalow sitting-room, illuminated by the motel’s neon sign blinking inward, I give myself up to my thoughts of her – a daily ritual for me now. I think of Dahlia at home with her husband; how
