In the bedroom they used to share, the real estate agent opens the blinds, letting in the mid- morning sun, then walks toward the desk and jots down her first notes: Office chair required. Small plant. Too many books.
How do you photograph silence? Is it represented by an empty room? A sleeping baby? A seascape? Such photos may lend a sense of quiet to the onlooker, but in reality, such scenes are not silent.
Hauling my suitcase up the unevenly-paved alley, I glance at the second-storey room I share with Komal.
Mister Pope stood in line at the Bank D’Amemzionne, where he’d come to make his regular cash withdrawal to cover the upcoming week’s expenses.
I stood in my kitchen, hands slightly palsied as I poured myself a glass of water from the sink.
Angie was the type of car people kept in antique store backyards ‘cause they thought she looked cool, “There ain’t nothing like a Classic Chevy.”
The listing requires dimensions, and so there is the inevitable internal struggle. Laziness. Disorganization… Cannot find the measuring tape. Can she guess its proper size?
