Last summer, my mother began the burning right after my father choked to death on a chicken thigh.
Here is what I dreamt when I finally got to sleep in the early morning: Someone had taken all the eggs from my fridge and devilled them.
Alan held a map open on the streets of Oslo. It was not helpful.
Arianne Robertson was taking a fitful nap in her old bedroom. Hurricane Katrina had passed over the city hours earlier.