On a road trip up the coast, I linger too long over lighthouses and eat way too much pie. Surprised?
I don’t even know what dreams I have left. They are diaphanous, semi-formed and live under the stairs. When I was 30, I had a long list of dreams.
At 60, they are written in Hi-Liter on the back of my hand. You can barely make them out: I dream about my wife getting healthy, my kids being content.
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