Michael Ast

All day editing. A folder full of memory’s fragments. Chambourcin in our to-go cups on the Delaware in Frenchtown. Returning from my pacemaker check in Fort Dix, post house fire. My daughter’s hand in King’s Point, dressed in commercial hearts. Another night in Marriott. Another tungsten-lit night. Drunk-driver aftermath on 309 north. A forlorn warning […]