That night, I burned the word “correct” over the kitchen sink. The flame was small and blue at its heart. The ashes swirled down the drain like tiny, exhausted dancers.
The back of my own head. The inside of a stone. The moment a decision is made. Manual enviados a servir otto arango
I watered a jade plant on the sixth floor of an office building where I had no appointment. I left a 1943 steel penny on a bench in Franklin Park. I wrote “The river remembers what the bridge forgets” on a scrap of receipt paper and slid it under the library steps. That night, I burned the word “correct” over