There’s a crushed loaf of sesame bread under the couch’s coverslip. A fine-toothed comb in the toaster oven, a bar of Litsea soap in the breadbox, a stone in the soap dish. I never find anything in its proper place. I can never be bothered to look for my keys on the keyring where Ramona drapes the Wisteria instead….

Mary Stein

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