It is true that the squeaky wheel gets the grease.
Lily is giving all her attention to the woman who will not stop bragging about how good her relationship with her mate is. I sit beside them but might as well be alone. Pulling my knees to my chest, burying my chin between them, I remain infatuated with the tufts of fire spread methodically throughout the field. My vision blurs and all the fires become smooshed together into one large bonfire. I think of my bookstore, the way it folded and crumbled—how it burned bright throughout the night and how it faded away once night turned to day.
I close my eyes and crane my head back, looking at the stars. The big dipper is right above me, upside down. In Wolphville the big dipper was always adjacent and flipped 180 degrees. For a moment I am str
