"You're Getting Married in a Meat Locker?"

His things are gone.

I see now the golden Italian movie poster that has been half hidden for years behind a blonde wood Ikea armoire he wanted to buy. I see that I had left the poster peeking from behind that armoire all this time possibly knowing that it would be revealed at some point or another eventually. Knowing that there was never really any need to relocate it from behind a piece of furniture so I could read the entire phrases, like “Domani Si Balla,” or “Il Conte Tacchia,” instead of just “alla” and “acchia.” Because someday it would be entirely visible exactly where it is.

The light echoes strangely now, with so much less stuff in the rooms. Everything has a slightly darker cast, probably because there are fewer surfaces to bounce it back.

In news of the weird, I tell you now that my sister wants to get married in a meat locker.

The light may seep strangely around my apartment, but the world is as happily odd as ever. I do not lose faith.