My hands slide under the faded floral couch cushions behind Future Memories Thrift Store. I find three hair ties, a now-gray piece of gum, and enough cat hair to create a new tabby. Sweat trickles down my back. My phone dings. I yank the shop-vac hose harder than necessary and flip the switch.
“Ava.”
I’m dragging Erik to the Art Institute because it’s free on Tuesdays and I don’t want to go to Religions of the World. The course is taught by this woman who wears dirndl skirts and pulls her dark hair tight into a bun, stretching the skin near her eyes tight. Below her nose, her face is large and fleshy and I’m sure that someday it will droop.
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