Papa was an accordion. But his bellows were all empty. Nothing went in and nothing came out.

“Her wrinkles were like slander. Her voice was akin to a beating with a stick.”

“Tomaré tu alma en mis manos, un color se posará sobre mi hombro y te llevaré co…”

“Those images were the world, and it stewed in her as she sat with the lovely bo…”

“How does it feel, anyway?"How does what feel?"When you take one of those books?…”