Photo by Pedro Dias on Unsplash

When my grandma died, my roommate Lisa drove me to the airport. A co-worker of hers had a flight at the same time — 6:50 a.m. — and we both wanted to get there the recommended two hours early. It was too early for public transit, too expensive to justify a car service. It was dark, before dawn, and chilly waiting for the heat vents to warm us. …

Anika J. Miller

Seattle-based bookseller. YA writer. Personal essayist. Foster cat mom. INFJ.

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