addiction’s arrival
addiction's arrival The day of our first picnic we eat half of it on the A train while three kids breakdance and we wish for a dollar in our pocket when they ask for a tip. You open a bowl of sweet pineapple and feed me with your left hand. I think of the night before when you commented how, "Your fingertips flutter when you first drift away. That's how I know you're asleep." We bought sour dough baguettes with peppery Croatian olive oil and...