Investing for Writing Opportunities
I prepped to clean my closet. The mass of clothes were wedged so tight I would eventually sell the middle section to farmers as compost. If I could have chosen to bike up Mount Everest with street tires and a screaming toddler on the back, I would have to give the matter serious thought. The first T shirt I untangled was one I’d worn on the first date with my wife. She passed through the room. “How long have we been married?” I asked her. “Twenty years,” she said. How could I