by joshua heineman                        ( about cb )

Interlude that sticks to the ribs.
Not long after moving across the country, I was walking the streets of Portland w/a pretty girl I’d met at the grocery store a few nights before. She’d written the codes of bulk items in permanent marker all over her arms in lieu of memorizing them & I was lonely & found that charming. I remember the air was mist, & w/in a scent of chimney smoke & pine needles. She talked mostly about the city blocks we passed over & the memories they held for her. They were blank slates for me, completely free & being formed as she spoke, but I didn’t tell her. Instead I described my apprehension at turning twenty-three in the coming months. She said not to worry: “Twenty-three is when you figure yourself out.” She was nineteen & I believed her.