(I wrote this in the fall of 2015. For a time, this essay now lived over on Catapult. At some point in the last few years, it was removed from Catapult. So now it’s back here where it started.) From our fourth-story window, I watch the traffic below. Taxis creep by, brakes squeaking from overuse,…
“You do skies well,” she tells me and I smile a little longer than I should, keeping the compliment for myself before passing it on to where I grew up. She’s looking at a photograph of a North Georgia sunset. “Yeah,” I say, “we really do.” “Where are you from?” The answer narrows depending on…