Lost With My Thoughts

I’m not very good at hiding from my thoughts. They follow me like persistent relatives, always vying for a turn at the center of my attention. I think about the future, about story ideas, about death. How could everything come from nothing? Why does Snoop eat grass even when not hungry? Nothing is off limits. Possibly a half dozen times in a given evening I’ll catch Tommy staring at me, mouth turned down at the corners, before he asks, “Are...