Barry asked.“Which one?” Michelle returned.“The brown one. You know, my favorite shirt. The button-down one?”“Good Lord. It probably curled up and died.” She walked over to the blinds in the western-facing window of the apartment, closing them against the last fragments of that day’s sun. “Are you sure you washed it? I mean, that thing like never leaves your back. Speaking of which, I think I left my black bra over here the last time. Have you seen that?”“Yeah. Here you go.” Barry tossed her the black bra.The rest of the laundry was organized and sorted on the kitchen table in front of him. He rubbed his forehead.“No,” he said. “I know I washed it. I specifically remember grabbing it from that chair in the bedroom. I’m missing those pants too.”“Which pants?” Michelle collapsed onto the couch, grabbing the remote and turning on the TV.“The gray corduroys. Have you done something to them?”“You figured it out, Barry. Yes. I have your clothes. I love them so much that I stole them and, on days that I’m not over here, I’m wearing them all over the place.
What do You think about Bury The Children In The Yard?
