A Bagel in Reno

I’m sitting at the pristine succulent-lined café bar, the city on pause outside, filtered out by clean air and soft music. An elevator ride away and I’ll be in a smoky lobby, surrounded by bells and sirens, the sounds of celebration drowning out the silence of despair.

Letter from my 8-year-old self

In my journey through the Artist’s Way, this week’s assignment was to mentally time travel to when I was 8, and remember what life was like for me back then. So here’s what I remember.

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