by R.M. Garabedian @RMGarabedian

Illustration by David Long

This is how I found my way back.

Sweat is shining on Harold’s bald head and his dark, bushy mustache (still holding pizza bits from his airport lunch two hours ago) is twitching. He shadows me as I perform chores on the ramshackle ranch I’ve rented in southwestern Colorado. When I open the doors to the shed, he hoists a shovel above his head and yells: “Because this is all you’ll ever be able to do out here: shovel shit — horse shit!”

I am ready. A girlhood in mumbling, self-effacing Rhode Island notwithstanding, several years of Manhattan living had yielded me this clear…

R.M. Garabedian

Writer & photographer

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