“When I was small I often dreamt that I could not find my home. I walked down my street and each house had been stripped of its color. Old women stared at me from the driveways, washing clothes in large steel tubs. My house was always just around the next corner, just beyond the next bend. With each turn I made, I found myself back where I’d begun. I woke up with balled fists, gulping for air.” — Amanda Davis, “Ending Things,” Circling the Drain
