Dad retreats to the den while the chicken marinates, lights a stick of incense, and helps the dog get a bone out of the basket.
I remembered the smoked turkey we had in the meat locker from Easter and started fantasizing about eating a leg, just standing in the kitchen and taking it by hand.
And I thought back to when I was 19, and what I could remember of that: The Cure had released Disintegration and a roommate had the CD.
The problem started with the awareness that the days were blurring together with little to set them apart.
It was like I’d just discovered the scale of life, that there was more of it than I could ever consume.
How many selves do we get?