by Joy Freeman
me was how to properly drive past the skyline. We were born on a peninsula, roughly twenty minutes out of reach from Boston, a mere swim from the we learned to master “the rounds” - circling the to pause in the middle of the road to switch from “Crash Into Me”. Crying spots were established, namely Grandview, the road which spans the harbor make a passenger seat a home, curl up beside the waves, and allow for jet engines to drone out any choice words about a recent heartbreak. Grandview is somewhere to stick your hand out the window, reach for the lights of the city as nightfall even be in them. Almost. 78