I haven't. I pull the piles of blankets up to cover my shoulders and resign myself to sleeping alone.I'm not any good at sleeping in lonely beds, but ... don't know anyone in this city to call to come round for a platonic snuggle. I suppose I will just have to wait, patiently, for your arrival. I'm also not any good at patience or waiting.After a while of staring at the ceiling, I roll over and stare at the window across the room. It doesn't make me any more sleepy than the ceiling did, so I. It was Mrs. Meyer, twirling her rainbow umbrella like an elderly version of Mary Poppins, which would forever haunt her dreams when images of Brian Jackson’s funeral graced them. A period of time passed where neither of them dared to speak. Hundreds of different memories of Brian overlapped her vision of the road, none for any other reason than because everything she saw reminded her of him: the town municipal tip where the three of them used to play, Mr. Swanson’s hundred-year-old oak in. More

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