Time is Precious

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Lying on his stomach after school, he is listening to old Bob Dylan records, propped up on his elbows. The carpet is musty with forgotten laundry, cookie crumbs, dust, modelling clay. Downstairs, the gentle clink of dishes and fizz of butter in a pan, the preparation of dinner.

Breakable Things

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Golden streetlights and twinkling Christmas lights glitter everywhere, reflected in a hundred shining surfaces. Lattes in hand, shoppers clatter and splash down the cobblestone sidewalks, peering in at displays of expensive soaps and functional cashmere.

Mediocrity

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When the young woman from Vancouver breezed in through the front door to inquire about wedding receptions, the pair had felt like they were about to win the lottery—if they didn’t mess it up. They tried not to convey an air of desperation while they gave her the standard information about rates, availability, capacity and the like.

The Beginning After the End

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In the first few days afterwards, they woke and slept with no real regularity. The horror of it all lent a sense of unreality to the dust, the ashes, the collapsed and crumbling walls. The moon still rose and fell, and sometimes stars glittered faintly through the haze. Sleep was a refuge. But the dreams became intolerable.

Cherry Blossoms

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But spring was gaining a delicate hold. The sun was returning — a weak, tentative sun that peered through dirty windows into her apartment. She turned her face to it. Outside, small birds fluttered and ruffled in damp leaves, and light sparkled off pools of water.

Scissors

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She had heard of women who cried in salon chairs after shearing off long hair, who sobbed uncontrollably into their smocks while their anxious stylists backed away. But she was not one of those women.

Peacock

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She made him watch pretentious foreign movies, and he made her watch terrible 90s cartoons, and they discussed life and death and God and robots until her boyfriend called and she had to go home.