The truck is almost packed - just one more load from upstairs and we'll be ready to go to the flea market for the day to sell Katie's sculptures. I have that soft, pleasant, baseline hum of adrenaline that comes from working at something you like to do.
When I get back to the front door of the apartment building, though, Katie is still waiting for me, and that niggling worry I hadn't even known was there blossoms from unconscious anxiety into full blown panic.
"Do you have your keys?" she asks, as I begin to pat my pockets frantically.
Two years ago today: Reincarnation/Rumination
Three years ago today: Autumn Scents