Thank you to Rochelle for Friday Fictioneers.
We’ll isolate together, it will be grand, he said.
On a boat.
Although I’ve loved him forever, I doubted.
Today I eyed the carving knife zealously.
Then he organized a zoom karaoke with our besties. We crooned silly songs, we sang John Prine and cried, found hope in “Three Little Birds.”
In Maryland, DC, and Virginia, we raised glasses of Trappist Ale, IPA, and Scotch Ale to each other.
My buddies, I looked at their faces on the screen, loved them.
He grabbed my fingers. Told me to sing “Angel from Montgomery.” I may or may not have killed it.