he leans against the dryer, pasty-faced and eyes bloodshot. the world is so big, he says. i nod silently. take a drag. takes two. back and forth and he says again, the world is so big.
across the ocean there is a 2-year old french boy waiting for surgery on his infected ear, across the other ocean a family sleeps fragmented dreams, above the ocean suspended in mid-air then no longer, a plane crashes.
he’s right. i think, as the dryer starts to whine, the world must be big, big enough to hold so many hurts.