Oh to be here.
The Piedmont and things looking up, down, and sideways. The caretaker’s house for the big mansion down the drive, but the people seldom coming down. Getting to have deer and chickadees for neighbors instead of the overdone teenagers who belong to the parents up in the en suite fairyland on the third floor, having their dinner delivered by a cable that looks to run straight to Uber Eats. The mother ran into at the little grocery. Finding out that they all lived squashed into a Lower Manhattan apartment the rest of the time, so in need of a summer something with a staircase you could pull up and lock off instead of a hallway as long as a bowling alley but with a bathroom at the end with no pinsetter to pick up the empty shampoo and conditioner bottles when the wastebasket fell over.
my new short fiction piece published to my Substack at the link. The fabulous 1960s gogo boots are from a post by @cosmikfolly on Instagram. I wish I had owned them. My mother refused to let my sister and myself buy gogo boots and since she paid for our clothes we were stuck.
