Читать книгу Particulate Matter - Felicia Luna Lemus - Страница 10

Car full of things you need, I drive the long drive to the shore—to the little house, home-not-home, your new (temporary, I pray) residence, the place where you can breathe. Literally. I fold the hanging towels, mop the bathroom floor, rinse the tub, square the corners of every bottle and tube on the counters, gather empty dry-cleaner wire hangers and throw them in the blue bin. I don’t even know if this town recycles like at home, our real home, home-home. Everything in its place [you are not].