Three Months in One Letter
I’ll never see you again, though. The creamy clouds hang over the mountains and I wonder if you are there. Far away from here. From Eddie the bird and Chow the cat and the ranch-style house in a neighborhood not far at all from mine.
America has always sold itself like a potluck dinner—“Bring your culture! Bring your grandma’s recipes! Bring the funky spices we can pretend we invented!”