JR WALSH: So long

Finally I settled for the materials on hand. A creased and coffee-stained envelope opened face down. A hotel pen leaking onto my fingerprints. I wrote DEAR JOHI across the folds before running from the ward.

There was no room for N. Sometimes a relationship doesn’t get halfway through the alphabet.


JR Walsh writes in landlocked Idaho, but itsjrwalsh.com floats everywhere.

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