I wrote something about in-between places, when I was somewhere in-between:
The crashed minivan’s headlights will be on, pointing out, softly illuminating dust particles. Walking closer to the vehicle, you will realize it’s freshly abandoned. No cops in sight. No survivors to be found.
Should we? Look at your husband. Keep going?
A blonde sorority girl will brush by in a huff, accustomed to crashes— or comfortable with the air: how it settles— or certain of where she is headed: she is settled.
You will wrap your arm around your husband’s waist. He will pull you in close. You both age at the same time, so it’s never too noticeable.
This was hard to write, mostly because it depended on copious notes– but actually, taking the notes while traveling made me remember the city better, remember myself better,