I see dead people. Occasionally. Usually in restaurants.

It’s always a little upsetting when I look across a restaurant and think I know the person sitting at a table, and then I realize that it can’t be the person I think it is because that person is dead. Yesterday it was Hugh Ogden, my poetry professor from college, who tragically fell through the ice on a Maine lake and drowned in 2007.

I could’ve sworn it was him.


This kind of thing doesn’t happen often, but it happens enough to make me realize that the people in my life are slowly but surely starting to die.

And I don’t like it.