Six sentences for Sunday, June 8:
I spend my first night back in a motel just off the highway, the room is crisp with recycled air. I shove the nylon coverlet onto the floor and watch TV with the volume on mute until I can sleep. It takes a long time. My body’s still vibrating from the road—eight hours with hardly any stops. This is why people get married, to have someone to spell them on long drives, to have another body in the bed. It must be almost morning by the time I finally drop off.