Problems at the top. I am interrupted in conversation with my sister for something “important.”
I head to my office, a concrete junkheap of paperwork, old computers, and filing cabinets. In the corner, a small greenhouse lies beneath a vinyl tarp.
Roger Sterling makes an entrance, cigarette smoke trailing behind — he can tell I have something on my mind and so turns on his heels as though he is being called to dinner.
I reach out an arm and then give up. I begin frantically digging through papers searching for the phone listing.
After hours of search, I give in and retire to my garden beneath the tarp. I am growing dried fruit and wheatgrass and a flower I have never known before. Rows and rows of soaking fauna stretch out before me. Continue reading Vivian