A deliveryperson rang the bell at 7 am. I was expecting them, but I rolled out of bed.
I signed the form and she was gone. As I stepped outside, I couldn’t remember a more beautiful day.
I tiptoed down the step, down the walk, peered down the block and realized I’d worn two layers of clothing all year. All spring, all summer. But now I could feel the air on my skin. I remembered how cool it could be in the morning, that it’s damp and smells like lawn.
I lost myself in this and rubbed my eye – a vague burning sensation from my undereye gel.
I had coffee on the step that morning.