There are women who wait at the door until you arrive like you said you would. Women who stand at the screen with their elbows poking in at the wire like original tuning knobs made of fossilized walrus bone.

You can’t prove it. Nobody can. Still I believe she never repeated herself. I have read her words while sitting down or standing up or flat on my back. I have leaned on pillows and read them over and over again and every time they sound different depending on the ache and altitude of my day and desire.

Traveling a West Texas highway in a baby-blue Prius. The driver picked me up at the El Paso airport. He doesn’t talk much. He picks up writers all the time and drives them to another lonely desk.