i missed your call the other day. i eat my apples sliced. i am nineteen. i am healing from things i did not tell my mom. i am healing from things i did tell my mom. i am nineteen. i like to think i know a lot but there are limes left to mold in the back of my fridge. i am cut from the same cloth as my father it seems. and just when i think things are starting to make sense an angel visits me during a fever dream, she tells me all about god and how the veil gets thin when you least suspect it. i listen but do not act upon it until it is almost too late. i find the answer in coffee grounds and medication and airport bathrooms. turns out the barking dog is not to be tethered on an eight foot chain but rather to be set free and allowed to run away.