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In the middle of the dark building there’s an air shaft that plunges down to a narrow courtyard, and someone’s lined the floor and walls of the courtyard with brilliant blue tiles.
I’m looking out a fourth- or fifth-floor window down in this courtyard that’s more like a well than a courtyard, it’s so narrow and deep.
Someone, maybe the same person who put down the blue tiles, has strung a net of wire mesh
someone would have put them down there
our families, such as they are, live in barracks apartments whose rows look exactly alike, a jaundiced yellow color, and though they’ve been standing there fifty years or so nobody’s bothered to plant any trees—as if whoever built those apartments forgot them as soon as they were built, put them out of their minds as something shameful
We both think this story is very very when we’re stoned together
or from the nearby toxic waste dumps that are the reason she got cancer in the first place according to the doctor
Ever since that I could tell my mother preferred Billy over me, and I know my father must have recognized that it’s only because of Billy that she ever felt like a person in those last couple of months before she died.
There’s always that moment when you wake in the middle of the night and you don’t know where you are, what strange city or room or bed; what stranger is lying next to you, the way people stay strangers even after you’ve gotten to know them; and those are the times when what you remember is more real than you are—you’re floating on the surface of these vivid memories and they’re the only things buoying you up.
-Lloyd Alexander"There is adventure in simply being among those we love, and among the things we love -- and beauty, too."
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