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The room’s decor doesn’t do it for her anymore; light green is the color of snot, of decay. Even if she swapped out the chairs at the dining table, it would still be a bunch of tacky imitation designer furniture. The plants are dry. Her bromelia was doing fine until it caught a virus. She’ll buy succulents instead, which don’t need much, just a vase and they’re ready to go. What’s with all the posters? Bernardo had a Miró framed so it almost looks like an original print. Just almost! He never was very original himself — his cleverest opinion was to say “no.” The drilling is back. It’s the renovations in Apt. 52, grinding on and on. In the beginning it drove her mad, but now it’s become the soundtrack of her life. She thinks about complaining to the Homeowners Assocation, but she hasn’t got the guts. A few months ago they changed the flooring, and it was hideous! The doorbell rings. She feels a shock, looks towards the door-- who could it be? She envisions good things, a future. It rings again. She thinks about jumping out the window, and maybe surviving; it’s only two stories up. Ringing. Ringing. Just a minute! She runs to the bathroom, to the bedroom, into kitchen, and back to the living room. She looks at the TV, the spot, the Miró, the bromelia. There isn’t much left to do. She needs to hide the body. •

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2017 Word for Work Workshop ebook  

2017 Word for Work Workshop ebook  

Profile for cusoa