Solitudes (or, Confessions from Delivery)

No one tells you how recognizable death will be when it comes. Yet he died in a heap of half-finished sentences. I was used to him: the occasional splurge on yogurt cheese, orange juice, sprouted bread. And then he made a big deal about his rectifiers: sheets of seaweed if on sale, omegas half-price. A man who cycled through ideas about what kept the heart pulsing: who among us is any different? […]