The boat Leroy's father had used to escape rests against the house, in the shadow of the lemon trees. The air was so dry that it did not have to be covered, so dry that it had not rotted at all during the past forty years, so dry that you had to cough for half an hour in the morning. But Leroy had gotten used to that, Gwen had not, so Leroy hugged her.
The elevator stopped. Paula knew immediately that she had not arrived on the forth floor yet, but that she had passed the third. She saw the beam of the intermediate floor in front of the back wall glass. It was time to leisurely inspect the feed lines and the air that had been trapped in the cement. The elevator had gotten stuck.
The days wore on, and Livia had the image of a plastic stroller in front of her eyes that was displayed in one of the windows at Woolworth's and whose color faded just a little more every day, day after day. Why was Peter not coming back? Why did his friends not return Livia's calls? Why did the whole world exist of nothing but voice mails?
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