Sublime

Sloane thought how funny it was the way that memories live in our brains. It’s funny who gets to switch things on and off. You have to decide who’s right.

used to tease Russell about anthropomorphizing clocks and lamps, for treating the flea market like his personal orphanage. He believed in the souls of objects. It’s where so much of his emotion lived, in these annexes of textiles and glassware, the miscellany of other people’s lives. Items without a home made him restless. It was not enough for you

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sopping

My mother found a fancy wristwatch catalog in the book swap at the dump. The front cover was crumpled, but she ironed it, as she ironed crumpled dollar bills. On the coffee table, next to a glass bowl from a garage sale, it looked like something a rich person would have. She set it just askew on the table, as if someone had been reading it and care

“Sylvie’s sick,” Alice said, as if handing a piece of mail to another person.

For years he’d tried to conceal his disability; now he was never photographed without a cane.