PART 3   I stared at the hospital bracelet in the lunchbox until the letters of my own name blurred.

because plastic fixed their lives.

Because their name existed somewhere official again.

Walter became stronger.

Not young.

Not magically healed.

But steadier.

He moved from transitional housing into a small studio apartment above a hardware store. The first night he slept there, he called me at 1:12 a.m.

“I can’t sleep,” he said.

“Is something wrong?”

“It’s continue reading …