The first day of the new year. 8:30 a.m. I was an apparition in the haze of a drunken hour. On my way home. I passed next to a house I've looked at my whole life. For the first time I found it cold and empty. The old lady living there had passed away last fall. I jumped over the fence to satisfy my drunken curiosity.
We sometimes need to feed the ghosts in our heads. May this be a commemoration of Irina's life. And her death.
