At the time I first realized I might be fictional, my weekdays were spent at a publicly funded institution on the north side of Indianapolis.
Daisy wore a clingy black dress with a neckline so deep it could tutor philosophy.
Here’s the thing: the rest of it wouldn’t have happened if the train to Amsterdam hadn’t been crowded.
It’s like a drug. One hit of it and you’re under its spell, and then all you can think about is more.
On 16 March 2017 I played my two hundred and seventy-ninth game for the Melbourne Storm.
I didn’t dare look at the palm of my hand for fear of seeing the bruising arc pattern of fingernails from the clenching of my fist moments earlier.
Jamie twists the dial on the radio up to full volume so we can hear the Stone Roses over the wind whistling past our ears.
When I was seven years old, I learned how important it is to cry at funerals.