A strange smell in an elevator opened a door I hadn’t walked through in decades, carrying me back to plastic Halloween masks, orange candy buckets, Washington Avenue, and my mother’s hand holding mine.
A space for reflection, rhythm and real
A space for reflection, rhythm and real
A strange smell in an elevator opened a door I hadn’t walked through in decades, carrying me back to plastic Halloween masks, orange candy buckets, Washington Avenue, and my mother’s hand holding mine.