With a single canvas tote draped over her arm, the woman climbs the two flights of stairs to her apartment. Despite the old walking stick and her older bones, she is still healthy, still strong. The stairs are nothing for her, but she climbs carefully anyway, as anyone who lives alone learns to do.
Inside, she doesn’t flick on a light—there are no surprises here—says hello to her cat, and tosses her bag onto the counter. Crossing to the mirror by the bed she stares at her reflection and wonders, When is that moment when dreams become memories?
Inside, she doesn’t flick on a light—there are no surprises here—says hello to her cat, and tosses her bag onto the counter. Crossing to the mirror by the bed she stares at her reflection and wonders, When is that moment when dreams become memories?
