Room

An old house. Broken clay cup, shattered, resting on a bible resting on a wooden end-table resting next to a visibly musty couch. Ashtray on end-table. Cigarette smushed in ashtray.

Old bookshelves behind couch. Books look smelly. Not many left, maybe thirteen, fourteen. Odyssey, with pages highlighted. Divine Comedy, unread. An atlas of France, well used. The Great Gatsby, dog-eared. A photo album with a picture of a naked hugging couple on the cover, filled with photos of family members, laughing children, smiling parents, sunsets, temporary memories. An atlas of Europe, also well used. An atlas of England, as other atlases. Gilgamesh, with several pages missing. A notebook with the name “Jean Kirkmann” written on the cover, first twenty pages filled with differential equations, next three pages with diary entries, a love letter pushed between two glued pages, the rest empty except for a name “Flavia” and a crossed-out phone number on the last page. Along with books, a photo of an overweight bearded man on an ATV with a rifle and a dead elk slung onto the back of the ATV. Another photo of a naked seventeen year-old from the back with long hair and small bum on a dock (sex cannot be identified), arms outstretched.

A red and green rug, one edge burnt, on the floor. Stained in several places, never cleaned.

Old horn-rimmed reading glasses on the floor, just under couch. Ink on corner of one lens.

Tissue box on arm of couch. Only two tissues left.