I receive a packet of twenty-four pictures in the mail. It’s a mistake. They’re not mine. Curious with this inside look into others’ lives, I examine each photo. Sometimes, the pursuit of truth can lead to lies.
The first one is of a man I’ll call Ben, on a bicycle in the middle of a small street. He’s wearing a backwards baseball cap and a big grin. It’s hard to tell the season. The neighbors’ cropped hedges aren’t saying. No snow, no autumn leaves. And the lawns look asleep.
In the next photo a woman stands in a kitchen. She has short black hair. It’s 5:30 according to the wall clock above the sink. She’s cutting bread and seems pleased to have her picture taken. I’m calling her Sarah and putting her age around Ben’s mid-thirties…