I don't remember sleeping through the night because I didn't lie down on the bed. I had sat down helplessly beneath the running rainfall shower. I had sat there even when the water had become so cold to endure, I had thought back to all those wonderful years I had with my father.
I had compared the bald man from the lobby to that man who leaves for work every weekday morning in a fresh-smelling tuxedo and a suitcase.
And I inferred precisely how ruthless this world could be.
That by the morning after I've worn makeup and attempted to mask the miserable look on my face, I had contemplated seeing him.
Horrendous or not he is my father, the man who drove me around New Jersey. The man who showed up every time I needed him until he was imprisoned. Homeless or not he provided me love and
