I looked at the jacket. If I took it, I’d just hang it in a closet at the nursing home. It would sit in the dark, smelling of mothballs until I died. Then Sarah would donate it right back to the same rack. History dies when you lock it away.
I looked at the jacket. If I took it, I’d just hang it in a closet at the nursing home. It would sit in the dark, smelling of mothballs until I died. Then Sarah would donate it right back to the same rack. History dies when you lock it away.