The Postcard

by Anne Berest

I feel like some sense of memory makes us attracted to places our ancestors knew, celebrate dates that were important in the past, and become drawn to people whose family once crossed paths with ours without our even knowing it. Call it psychogenealogy, or cellular memory . . . all

All of our lives were spun from that impossibly slender thread of luck.”

Sometimes, the mind lingers on pointless things. Certain tiny, absurd details hold your attention when reality has lost all of its usual meaning, when life becomes so insane that you can’t call on any past experience to know what to do.