Grief. It's a series of shuddersome stitches that hold your torso together. Most often, they are slipshod and clumsy; starting just under your chin and winding their way south down to the top of your pelvis. These markers are not easily camouflaged. You see them naked in the mirror every morning, feel them when the first hint of a heavy storm is approaching and, in my case, whenever you hear Side One of "Blood On The Tracks."
