Hope
There are sometimes when I think America really does die. Robbing the corpse of a city that you call home is worse than being a worm in a carcass. All I can think of is Bourbon Street and the death of jazz. The death of ghosts, history. The bones have floated in the river despite all of the efforts at grandeur. Memorials.
College opened on Monday and I can find little to be unhappy about at this time. It doesn't feel right, even as I am having a difficult time. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.