People will think it’s strange, I thought, and wondered why I cared about that, as my mind reeled and puckered and gasped. I began wailing and trying to swallow the wail at the same time, an accordion in the key of grief. Or does grief begin later? What are the parameters? I was suffused with thoughts, involuting and vomiting other thoughts, chief of which was the sense that we would be washed away within the hour, carried down that river after him.
