The comprehensive account of you and me is just over five pages long.
A toilet is a place, too, like a seaside resort or a centuries-old city is a place. A visit to a toilet bears recounting, too.
I look out the window at our once-bustling city that is now stuck in a perpetual state of Sunday. It’s only been six months since our microwave died, but we’ve both aged so much more in that time span.
“It’s not safe,” I say.