Laura Vasilion Writer Stories. We all have them. I have to tell mine. If I didn’t, I know I’d drive my friends and family crazy. Tell them, over and over, about the train conductor I met who’s fluent in Swedish. The black pianist who grew up playing ragtime to drown out the sound of gunshots. The way the July sky looks at midnight in Iceland.

Stories. We all have them. I have to tell mine. If I didn’t, I know I’d drive my friends and family crazy. Tell them, over and over, about the train conductor I met who’s fluent in Swedish. The black pianist who grew up playing ragtime to drown out the sound of gunshots. The way the July sky looks at midnight in Iceland.