O 39-brother Where Art Thou -

O’Brother, where art thou?

I laughed. It came out strange and rusty, like a door opening for the first time in a decade. o 39-brother where art thou

“Does it have a name?” he asked.

There was no lighthouse in our county. There hadn’t been for eighty years. But there was a restaurant called The Last Lighthouse, a sad little diner on the edge of the salt flats, fifty miles from anywhere. I’d driven past it a hundred times and never gone in. O’Brother, where art thou

I wanted to be angry. I had a stockpile of anger, neatly stacked and labeled. But sitting there, watching my brother tremble over a sugar packet, I felt the whole thing collapse. I felt the whole thing collapse.