“He keeps things in it. Me, for instance. There are simply times when we have to be alone. He pays for it in cigarettes, and the woman he rents it from is glad of the occasional American dollar he tosses her way. We went there last night to be alone, never minding the holes in the roof. We took a bath together. He has hair on his chest and belly, which seems unusual for a blond man. I played with it as it dried from the heat of the fire, combed it with my fingers until it was the shape of a butt...erfly. Afterward he showed me how underneath a piece of oilcloth he keeps pistols and rifles, cameras and binoculars still in their carrying cases, an antique ornamental sword. His pride and joy is a newly acquired motorbike, an almost brand-new German Ziindapp. Everything he has is expensive and beautiful, the best in the world. I see it all around me. People take what they want, just pop through a hole in the side of a house and survey the ruins. If they don't take it, someone else will, so what's the point of leaving it?MoreLessRead More Read Less
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