painting by Rex Wilder
I visit the coffee shop on Twenty-Fourth and Broad to listen to lovers’ quarrels.
Their words float above clanging utensils on flatware before making their way to my table, where I savor them more than my favorite dark roast.
My husband and I would come here every Sunday morning after making love under the skylight of our dusty third-floor apartment.
He’s gone now. He disappeared in the ring of an early morning phone call from a police officer at St. Luke’s Hospital three years ago this week.
bendingtheneedle 