"Karen had died on the trip down from Ohio. The heart: something they had known about for a while. She’d even sing jokily about it during rare drunken moments: 'Oh, I’ve got a hole in my heart, / and that’s a mighty bad place to start!'"
"To me, it all smelled new. The boxes we’d moved our stuff in were still piled in the corners of the apartment, and the smell of fresh paint drifted like a cheerful tune through the rooms. Everything was clean. Most of the wardrobes and cupboards had already been assembled; odd screws and tools still lay around—an electric drill, a hammer, screwdrivers, extension leads, a scattering of wall plugs. In the kitchen, the pots, pans, and cutlery had already been stowed. We had even polished them before putting them away, and the rings on the stove were gleaming too."
