Among the Ten Thousand Things: A Novel

Each minute took all its time.

her handbag that always had gum and Band-Aids and tissues in it.

lots of blonds, a banana when it is first peeled and

She knew how to be surrounded by people and not meet anybody’s eye.

There was that little guy in her throat, the one that hurt when she wanted to cry.

Folds in the mostly made beds sank deeper into themselves. Stains stayed stains, in the hampers and dresser drawers. In the kitchen, a milk-clouded spoon fixed to its bowl and magnets drifted down the refrigerator.

We thought we were living in between-time, after this and before that, but it’s the between-time that lasted.

then at intervals after, as the air rusts it brown.

A street vendor barked “Umbrella Umbrella Umbrella