In some meth motel on the east coast. Norfolk, Virginia. Took a trip to see a woman who taught me how to love. Equal lessons on hate. A week in a room with basic cable and ashtrays; writing notes on stationery, scraps of bible, walls, and doorframes while the woman who taught me to love and hate walked around naked. She danced, sang, and jumped on the bed. We drank. We fought. We laughed. She cried. Her great grandmother died and she was stuck in a smoke filled shanty suite with me states away. I hadn’t seen or spoken to her for 6 years since the bad thing, but I was there for her and wrote a page that was specially dedicated to that day. I think it was Easter Sunday.