(xxxvii)


Sitting in my chair in the closet, reading. She knocks and enters. Abstracted, I favor her with a blank stare.

“Do you have any plastic garbage bags?” she asks. With a peculiar smile.

“What size?” I ask. Dryly.

“This will do.” Half-pointing, half-reaching.

“It's yours,” I say. Dismissing her, as she dismisses me.

It occurs to me later that this is the longest conversation I have had with her.