26
Spring arrived early that year. By mid-March the magnolia trees lining Ava’s block had unfolded, tulips reached for the sun optimistically, and the ivy in Fort Greene Park seduced dogs with delicate white flowers that they peed on. There was, Ava noticed, an influx of puppies in the neighborhood, and during her early-morning walks they eagerly bumped noses with Brutus.
The Stoned Fruit had opened an ice cream window, and an eternal line of people happily waited for scoops of CBD-infused sorbet. Everyone around Ava was sneezing more, laughing more, and wearing short sleeves. By all accounts, the dramatic relief from a grim winter should have made Ava feel better.
Instead it all felt like an insult.
She was lonely. I feel like a hollowed-out shell, she wrote to her SHRNK.
How about a
