Notes from the Underground
Brother lives in a special school, its name is unspeakable. No one is dying. At night, we listen as
Mother shuffles furniture around and peels off the wallpaper. Sofas and chairs turn fickle, they aban-
don us, imposters take their place. Sometimes there is food. I peel a single tangerine and build a tan-
gerine trail though the house. We’re beggars here, I tell Little Sister. She accepts her precious segment.
She can make it last for years.
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