My Father Tossed a Blue Savings Passbook into the Mud at Cedar Ridge

The engine rattled violently every time I stopped at a red light.

I parked on the street.

The climb up the three flights of stairs made my chest ache.

Inside my apartment, the air was ice cold.

The building’s radiators hadn’t been turned on for the season yet.

I locked the door and slid the heavy wooden chair under the brass handle.

I walked into the bedroom and turned on the cheap desk lamp.

The harsh yellow light threw long shadows against the bare plaster walls.