This is a map of where we are. The silhouetted shapes of people and animals. Drifting, melting, sticking up. There's a little bit of color.
I saw him for a minute. He touched the edge of the life we knew: color, and the lack of color. The cleaning, the cooking, the waiting—for somebody's father who was his father's father. And there was a big party. A meal that consisted mainly of lettuce. And my father had created a gift that was mainly a head of romaine, in a bag.
But the room was so hot. The sweat was dripping off us and I thought, "That lettuce isn't gonna make it." Though I didn't want to say.