“Unveiling Secrets: What Columbus Never Knew About His Journey”
I watch Philip write the letter. He watches me lick the envelope.
Shortly after I left my job for a marginally better paying one, my dad learned he had cancer. I visited him at home every weekend until he died, a year later. I brought him books, we listened to jazz on his radio, and he showed me the letters he’d gotten from El Jefe and the Arturo’s regulars who’d asked me why he hadn’t been there lately. Someone sent him an Arturo’s cap, which he refused to wear. “Even The Little Rascals look more mature than a guy in a baseball cap,” he said. I told him about my new apartment in Washington Heights, where I did all my reading on my living room rug, its 6 by 9 feet feeling like an acre.
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