One morning early in the third year of the now times, my daughter wakes up and sits on the sofa, hair tangled, back slouched, eyes bleary. I’m already downstairs, in the kitchen, and on seeing her, offer breakfast.
One morning early in the third year of the now times, my daughter wakes up and sits on the sofa, hair tangled, back slouched, eyes bleary. I’m already downstairs, in the kitchen, and on seeing her, offer breakfast.