Читать книгу Particulate Matter - Felicia Luna Lemus - Страница 22

Over at the bumper-sticker-car hippie house, a woman I’ve never seen before got out of a blue car holding a triangle American flag. I want to know where she put it.

When I was a kid, the folded flag was on the piano bench. I undid the first (last) origami tuck once. I wanted to unfurl the entire thing, shake it out and wrap myself in it, hide, disappear. Because that’s what happens. People disappear in those dense triangles, their weight the totality of a human life.