B-school classes. Unfinished taxes. Need anti-acids. Everything still in boxes. "You say something, Sweetie?" Laurel looks up from her Netflix binge. Relaxed as a cat. Not like me. "The Zantac?" I ask. Stomach in knots. "Spare room. Carton labeled 'Bath.'" Moved Friday. Needs paint, shelves, rugs, curtains. The works. Spare room has no light. Use my phone. Rap music and laughter pour
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