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“I N THE WAKE OF THE STORM, I sat at my kitchen table, drinking coffee, trying to make sense of everything that had happened. One minute, I was remembering my cat, Schmiggs, sitting on the kitchen table. Black saucers filled his green eyes as he craned his neck, clearly looking at something—someone—down the hall that I couldn’t see.” — Charlie Bynar
I N THE WAKE OF THE STORM, I sat at my kitchen table, drinking coffee, trying to make sense of everything that had happened. One minute, I was remembering my cat, Schmiggs, sitting on the kitchen table. Black saucers filled his green eyes as he craned his neck, clearly looking at something—someone—down the hall that I couldn’t see.