the smuggler’s bible

Sofia

Work ends on Friday and the buoyant lightness of freedeom expands throughout Sofia’s body, starting in her heart and radiating outward. She barely clears the front doors before the feeling lifts her and she soars away, floating straight up in a warm(ish) beam of whatever counts for sunshine at four o’clock in December.

When she finally makes landfall, it is in a foreign country; the far shore, where the air is sweet, the clocks don’t run and the quiet mornings stretch and stretch but never break.

Vacation, Sofia sighs. The promise kept. Hallelujah and amen, may the season never end.