The House in the Photographs
I parked three streets away and sat there for forty minutes, and then I drove back north, and I have never been able to explain that to anybody satisfactorily.
I had a right to be in that house.
It is my house.
I did not want to be in a room where those photographs had been taken while I was in Huntsville, and I did not have the language for that on a Sunday morning, and I still do not, entirely.
What I did instead was the single most useful thing in this account, and it cost nine dollars.
Here is a thing most people do not know, and it is the first of the four practical things I now tell people.