The Morning After My Son’s Funeral An Airport Worker Called About The Bag He Left Behind

The ordinary business of a city on a Wednesday morning, entirely indifferent to what had just happened inside.

I stood on the top step and reached into my coat pocket.

The 1962 Illinois Bunn Special was there, the one I had been restoring when everything started, the one that had sat half disassembled under the lamp while I read cardiologist emails continue reading …