Seven years is a long time. A person can change in seven years. Especially a person who has spent those years in prison.
Jess is excited to finally meet his papa. He’s too jumpy to sit, and I am too nervous to stand. I’ve painted him a picture of a protective hero, a superman straight out of Justice League. I’ve painted him a dream.
Will reality match the dream?
We are waiting for him at the bus stop, beside a giant rusted sculpture of a clock. The irony doesn’t escape me.
The vacuum at the pit of my stomach only grows.