All I can do is continue to take those Lilliputian steps, as I did for so long after John died, hoping that, once more, they’ll get me to where I need to go. A few weeks ago, while holed up in my apartment like millions of other New Yorkers in this surreal period of self-isolation, … Continue reading →

Meandering through grief, a man tries to replace his sofa. It doesn’t go well. John and I bought the sofa together when he moved into my apartment on 14th Street. I say “together” even though he probably paid for it, as he did with most of our major purchases back then. He made four times what … Continue reading →