We drive to the ghost town the day the mountain lion dies. I read about the euthanasia online, outside the coffee shop—nauseated, suddenly, waiting for a latte in the winter sun. It’s unseasonably warm, the kind of warm you know you should be grateful for but feels like hives. I’m scrolling for details on the memorial when our friend texts: “Keep me updated on your eta we’re trying to launch a car off a cliff at sunset.”
The beauty of this essay! Loved it.
so gorgeous it's gasp-inducing
love this so much
so beautiful. thank you.
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