My mother is so nonreactive that for a moment I wonder whether she’s a projection that’s buffering. Then she breaks into motion. Lips pressed, she gestures to two plain chairs at a simple table. It’s like we could be in a lawyer’s office somewhere, four centuries ago. Like in, what was it called, Ohio. “What is this place?” I ask as I sit in one of the vintage chairs.
i love when ohio catches strays lmfaoooo
