Xanthe left me. I found out her new address,
and returned the kettle she had left behind.
The next day I took her a book she had lent
me. I found a box of hairgrips, and delivered
one each day. If she wasn't home I would
post it with a long letter explaining how I had
found it on the floor. When I had returned
them all, I took her, on the tip of my finger, a
tiny ball of dust. 'I remember seeing it fall
from your dress one afternoon,' I said. 'The
pretty one, with the flowers on it.'.
from Anthropology, by Dan Rhodes.
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