![]() ![]() The floor takes a measure of its measure. The arctic air blows through the open front door as he lugs each liberated iota of freighted history from the room, down the hall, and out, and again returns-heroic, romantic, his ancient waffle shirt stained by rust, his jeans pocked by dirt, his glasses steaming with the indoor and the outdoor of this winter operation. With an iron wedge and a dumbbell hammer, with hands and head and heart. It is a presence begging for an absence, the question being how. The thing has been heatless for years, its hundreds of pounds sinking the thin floorboards, its valleys and hills and cul-de-sacs grimed with hair clump, paint chunk, the claustrophobias of dust. The defunct radiator in the sunny pocket of the room is twenty-three cast-iron quanta long. ![]()
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