Home again. Rarely am I here. But it’s not a bad feeling. Things are in place, organized. It’s a rather comfortable kingdom, especially since Car is here. The guy makes it better at home, warmer, kinder, and sweeter. I don’t know how, but he does. I like having him around. I need him around.
He has a gift for me, which is unexpected. Inside the kitchen, he passes me a palm-sized, wooden box shaped like a treasure chest. Two red, leather straps run vertically over the top of the box. It has a brass clasp that flips open in its center, front.
“Open it,” he says, gleaming smile.
I unclasp the wooden box and open its convex lid. Lime green tissue lines its bottom. On top of the tissue sits a narrow, marbleized blue-and-white pen. “It’s beautiful,” I tell him.
“It’s from Greece. One of my f
