My Neighbor, Mr. Richardson
The day Mr. Richardson’s daughter died was one of the last few warm days of summer– one of those brilliantly long, sunny days which slowly bleed into a cool evening. It was not the sort of day befitting to death. The sleepy inertia of August was finally wearing off with school just around the corner, red and yellow blots appearing on maple leaves, and signs for pumpkin-flavored drinks popping up in small coffee joints around Seattle.
