I was in my early thirties now. I had some money and some roots, just not too much of either. If I were to start all over, I wanted to have some stability. Maybe not as much as before, where every weeknight was the same and every week its own version of stolid and stale adventure, but I had grown used to some sense of safety and conservation when I had been with Jack. As much as that relationship had not worked out, I had learned things from him. I liked what he had given me.
After two weeks of random wandering, staying here and there at motels and reminding myself with back aches come morning that I loved owning my own bed, I found a small apartment. Outside the city, close to the highway, and close to a school. I could spin my writing credentials into a tutoring career, curriculum writi
