Me, my garbage cans, and the spinning of the globe
Jan 22, 2020
2 minutes
It’s midnight, and the winter wind is pushing on the house. The house is creaking and popping as though shrugging out its kinks. Every now and then something bangs or clanks or tumbles through the yard, and I run through a mental inventory of unsecured items. Bucket? Garbage can? The chains of the house
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