Joyland

My dad threw out his mom’s long-neglected magazine collection after it began to squeak. Mice had invaded the pulp, causing it to teem with newborn rodents. In her dementia, my grandma Hope had forgotten about the cardboard boxes stacked in the back of her garage. The collection spoiled by the mice had been one of Hope’s prized possessions, a bilingual true crime archive that took her half a century to build.