My Parents Invited 20 Guests To My Lake House Until I Refused To Fill The Fridge

I had worked twelve hours at St. Mercy Medical Center, most of it on my feet, most of it watching people beg for one more breath under fluorescent lights. By the time I parked outside my apartment in Portland that evening, my scrubs smelled like antiseptic and coffee and the particular exhaustion of a shift that doesn’t end so much as it simply stops.continue reading …