We drove across the Bridge 2 summers ago.
Michael packed the essentials:
a jar of peanut butter,
a box of hangers,
and my scratched Simon and Garfunkel record.
It got hung on the wall,
we never actually bought a player,
the sound of silence was enough.
Waking up to sunrise skin,
The whirring of the fan,
and eventually,
to self.
