5 things for friday: a burning
heartbreak in los angeles. plus: a podcast to ring in the new year, lentil soup for sick days, an excellent thriller, and more
happy friday, friends.
there is a memory i have. i am a child—perhaps 6 or 7 years old—and i am fleeing my house, running to my next door neighbors, as fast as my little legs will go. i am running, and then i am flinging myself around the body of liz, the mom who lives next door, and i am telling her that my house is on fire.
my grandpa! i am saying. my …
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