“I’ve got a job,” my artist wife said, rushing into the living room of our fourth-floor walk-up apartment shortly after our honeymoon and long before the days of her established art business.
I know, I thought. You’ve been working customer service at the local department store in our suburban mall for over a year.
“A new job,” she continued, after my bewildered look betrayed my thoughts. “It’s gonna be awesome.”
“Oh really?” I asked. “Where?”
“DeSerres,” she said.
Continue reading
