Now I’m Dancing… by Ingrid Calderon
It was 1989.
I was 10 years old.
The year a fated motorcycle accident left me fastened to a Queen bed inside my faux-grandfathers house. We’d ended up there, after a long search for sanctuary. He’d take me on long drives to record-stores, where he’d put 10 dollars in my hand and set me loose.
He was a memento of cleanliness and purity.
An Angel from New Mexico.
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