
“Then she would see a cockroach on her bedroom wall, staring back at her languidly as it cleaned its antennas with long, lavish strokes. The anger would bubble in her throat and her mother’s voice would sing to her from a long gone time.” *** She stood at MMIA, watching her husband go and trying […]
from Brittle Paper http://ift.tt/2l2R4Jn
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