November 14, 2008

On those days, I left as the sun came up, and I returned after the sun went down. Our street was deeply dark, strangely lacking enough streetlights, and our porch was painted with gray paint that grew slippery when it was wet. It was slightly slanted in that old house, soon-to-collapse sort of way. Sometimes, when I walked up the steps, my feet slid backward. Every day, in winter, I felt just one wrong step from disaster.

One comment

  1. […] Proof small, intoxicating stories « Porch Unmoored November 16, 2008 Without him in the house anymore, I became unmoored. I ate […]

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