Ms. Bird stood in front of the class, holding a bag of flour. “You’ll dress up your flour babies, you’ll name your flour babies, and your flour babies will go everywhere with you for two weeks.”
He kept meaning to get back to Boston. From Texas. From Florida where he was before Texas. He hasn't seen his daughter. He's ashamed that it will take his own mother's funeral for him to see her, to see Kate for the first time in four years.
He couldn't decide whether to add a picture of a camera or one of himself, and in the end (I knew it), he posted a one of himself. Taken ten years ago.