#99

Three homes in one day.

The old.

The for now.

The new.

The few things that were almost left behind: an umbrella that belonged to her old boss; the too small broom she bought and loved despite its useless size; the souvenir magnet from the village in Italy where she had climbed inside of a thirty five meter tall copper statue of Saint Charles, taking the steep spiral staircase inside the virtuous empty head on her own.

One of the movers asked if she was a seamstress. He confused one of her bags as a sewing kit. His wife was a costumer. I could be, she suggested. But I’m not. But you could be one day, he said.

She could hear a wind chime, wind in the trees, and winded laughter of the family downstairs eating a meal together. The landlord texted her later asking if she was still up. She said yes, and worried she was being too loud dragging boxes across the floor. Would you like some food? Was all the landlord wanted to know.