Shaun Williams
Grew up in Richmond Hill. Mother still teaches there. Howard alum. Lives in Park Slope, in a one-bedroom that looks west. Pays attention for a living. Forgets, sometimes, that paying attention to himself is also a job.
What follows is what he writes after he leaves the office.
Shaun Williams
I Did Not Step Back
7:14 AM. Cold coffee on the counter and another cup in his hand. The voice he has known for forty-eight months had a body for the first time on Monday. Yesterday afternoon her hand came up to the side of his face.
Already Counting
A Tuesday night Zoom from an Atlanta apartment two years and four months after the LAX drive. Headphones on, second cup of coffee, the first time her voice arrives in his ear.
One Green Checkmark
Thursday afternoon, the first Atlanta deliverable goes out. One client. One green checkmark. A floor he sits on to read because the couch can wait.
She Wanted to Drive Me
Marcus's car, the 405 empty at 5:40 AM, one suitcase, a red-eye to Atlanta, and a curb hug he would not have survived.
Vinyl Letters by Wednesday
Sunday morning in West Hollywood, single-origin coffee for two, a vinyl-letter door going up Wednesday, and a 2 AM thought he overrides in the same paragraph.