‘In a few weeks the rains will be here and the water will smash against every side of the bungalow. I suppose then we will have to go back inside. But I am not going to think about that; at the moment the sunshine is still lighting up the hillsides, every bush aching with green.’

‘I crouch down and pick up a high heel with a silky bow attached to it. Where would that bow be positioned? Across the toe or around the ankle or perhaps higher up somewhere. I pick at the bow, working at the knot with both hands, plucking and pulling, but it won’t come undone. With my nails I burrow into the fabric. I tear at it with my teeth, sputtering out the glossy fibres that stick to my tongue.’

Read the full story in The Baffler.

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