The rusting door of my little Nissan truck slams behind me as I shuffle across the parking lot toward the treatment plant.
As I sit at my kitchen table, a war is raging above me.
The little jeep went first, sold to a cousin who would give it a good home.
It was time to clean out the closet. I went through old clothes, deciding what to keep and what to give to good will.
The first dish that arrived was baked chicken, breaded and full of flavour.