I haven’t spoken to my sister in ten, fifteen, maybe twenty-five years — it depends what you count as ‘spoke’, I suppose — but still I wonder nearly every other day where she put the gun. The one we got from the unicorn.
You weren’t in the casual class pictures that we took from time to time, or so I thought. You were not friends with my friends. I don’t think you had any, really. But I was at the front each time. And yet, somehow, I met you one day.
"Could I have a look at the Meissen porcelain figurines?" He had a slight accent. He pointed to the shelf. There were about ten figures displayed.
He carefully took one of them in his trembling hands, a shepherdess with a lamb, and carefully put it back in slow motion.