An empty house

The removalists came and went. They yelled at us and promised me that I would never get a job as a volume estimator. They took 9.5 cubic metres of heart and soul with them and left with a frown. I guess they share the vertigo.

I am typing away now in the middle of an empty house, like the guy in the movie who is dumped by his wife and comes home to realise that she has taken everything. Isabel is here (they didn’t put her in one of the 0.120 cu.m. cartons) so this is not as bad. But still feels awkward. I can hear the echo of my typing, and we have to take turns to drink lemon, lime & bitters from the only cup in the house.

I can almost imagine what it must be like living with only a handful of earthly possessions. Not quite.

We are off tomorrow evening. Until then, anorexic living for us. Nunca peor.


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