“She wonders what curse this is, to swing from life to life, grief to grief, with no control.”
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“She wonders what curse this is, to swing from life to life, grief to grief, with no control.”
by Aarti Monteiro
They met the year Rani started taking photographs. She had just bought a used digital camera, and took every chance she had to walk around Brooklyn with it. She was coming home from one of these walks when she noticed an older woman outside her building on Sterling Place digging through a purse. The woman wore a maroon coat and stood next to a full cart of groceries, plastic bags bulging from the grates. Her white hair stuck out underneath a lopsided hat. Rani jerked open the front door and held it for her neighbor.