543 Day Writing Journey

No Place to Go. Day 392.

When I was eighteen with a young Tyler, I was packing to move out of my parents’ house to live in an apartment in Southampton, MA. I had boxes of hand-me-down pots and pans from Nana, cheap, flimsy towels from Ames department store, and a couch that looked as though it belonged on the the Golden Girls’ lanai.

Continue reading “No Place to Go. Day 392.”