Other humans were absent. She half-dragged him through the many rooms of Buhle’s body, tripping through the final door, then spinning him around and ripping, “Buhle,” he said, “the point of that story was to tell me how vulnerable you are so that I’d tell you my story, but that story doesn’t make you vulnerable. She seemed to be hearing her own voice from a long way away, clinical, emotionless, physician’s notes, an audio-cylinder voice.
She had to stop regularly because of headaches. “You gonna be all right here on your own, until I’m straightened out?”“Someone comes up I can’t deal with, I’ll let you know,” Da Silva said. But I knew the matter was not over. Dear Mom,So far we still haven’t been able to cross the OHIO river.
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