I’m sitting at the breakfast table in my bra and panties, sipping melted ice water through a straw, pretending it’s iced tea. Casey, sprawled beside me, looks barely alive.
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Yesterday, my train back to DC from Philly was two hours late because someone decided to end his or her life outside of Trenton and under the wheels of an Acela on that blue-sky afternoon. Employees at 30th Street Station were amiably accommodating, responding with smiles to my persistent requests …