Nov
30
Half a dozen red roses, a length of cord, a piece of scotch tape, and a note on a napkin, written in black marker.
Still air, noticing a mole on the hand of someone you have known for years, or noticing one of your own that you had forgotten about.
A tipped over road cone, an old and faded receipt from a diner out of state.
The fresh smell of a shirt you washed weeks ago but haven’t worn since, a discarded tabloid paper.
A second cup of coffee or a nap.
