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.
I really loved this one
Thanks, JL! The kind words are much appreciated.
JL – I read your piece in Blink-Ink’s “True Crime” issue. That Pulpy narration was dark and spot on!