JACKSON

I sit up while waiting for Jerry to go get my mother’s portrait hung in my room. I see my socks, a leg on the floor, and another on the edge of the chair. A bottle and a glass on the table.

My discarded tie lays there on the floor like a snake, and my shirt rests on the edge of my bed. Last night was really something.

My mind flashes as I remember I didn’t hear from Aurora. Maybe it’s the cell service that makes it difficult to connect, I think. I’ll blame anything and ...