MIAMI: "The least we can do is dance"
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Our worlds were different but there was a strange togetherness, a security within our space. Jamie would be gone for days at a time and I’d have the bungalow to myself, the cool white tiles at my feet and the white ceiling fans whirring above me, and the big-screen television, the blue sectional couch and a king bed all to myself. He worked nights. I worked all the time. He’d leave at 7 in the morning to drive to the mainland and would be gone until at least 2, and my day sometimes began at five in the afternoon. Or 3:30 in the morning.

The road trips were trying. One afternoon when he was away, I found a card postmarked “Cochrane, Alberta” under a stack of newspapers and dated the previous month. Do I want to open this? I peeked inside only briefly, and saw the swooping...

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