
Sundays • the race
My mother taught me the racebefore she taught me to cook.
On race Sundays I am usually in a rented kitchen, watching on a laptop propped against the suitcase, at whatever hour the time zone decides. I do not talk during the start. That rule is older than my cooking and came from the same woman.
I have opinions about pit stops and nobody to say them to, so the sink hears them. My mother calls when it rains. What that phone call is, and what it is not, is in the first letter.












