Iowa, 1977

It was winter the day I set my book down, took glasses off, when the frames hit the glass, there was no other version of who we were left to be,was same old same old no matter what.

I drew a breath as cold as the first one in Iowa, a breeze so cold it froze my vomit, on the way home from pretending my sister and I were married at a fancy restaurant, just so I could get a drink.

Words and Image by Adam Strong

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