death as the morning after a sleepover I hope death feels like the morning after a sleepover. Your best friend’s front door swings open to reveal your mom on the porch, silhouetted by the July sun. You know the answer but you ask anyway. Can I stay a little longer? Behind her, the car engine hums knowingly and your dog peeks out of the back-seat window. I’m so glad you had fun, baby, but it’s time to go home. She reaches across the threshold for your hand. You take hers, then look back one more time. Thank you for having me.
