By Jenn Hall
In 2020, my best friend Ginny died at home. She was my sister friend. My ride or die friend (before that was a thing). She was the one who made everything OK. In the months that followed, I developed odd habits. I wandered my early pandemic hallways in pajamas like a neo-Victorian ghost, staring out windows at shifting skies. I sought solace in tarot cards and text chains, her voice evoked silently in black and white. One day, I made a six-hour playlist of every song that remi...
Published on September 04, 2024 04:00