I discover my family lied about my mother’s funeral so I wouldn’t fly back for it. I’m beginning to think they aren’t nice people.
I wasn’t anxious about crashing, but about landing.
She said she’d visited my father’s grave and told him my news. He was, I understand, thrilled by it.
At the launderette, an elderly man took off his trousers, put them into the dryer without washing them. He sat on a chair and offered me a cigarette.
I’ve decided to stop saying goodbye, and start saying hello, instead.
Maybe everyone thinks it’s his costume for Purim, a Bacon painting of a Screaming Pope.
Kindly, she added that I shouldn’t be embarrassed, families can be strange. That much I know.