Kimberly

The fog smothers downtown London and I cut through it like a dull knife to leather. I stumble down a sidewalk, black mascara tears marring my already grimy face. I stop and take off my now broken heels. I slump under the weight of my invisible burden, my mourning dress riding up, and think,”I’m here for a funeral for a man who is supposed to be my father. Why don’t I know him?”