“Where are you going?” he asked, feeling me lift off the bed and toward the door. “To walk around.” “Do you want me to come with you?” “No.” We had arrived an hour ago from the Nice airport. I knew I would become restless in the hotel room. From the moment we landed, I felt uneasy. There had never been a Will when I had been living in France over ten years ago, and it felt strange to have his comfort in a place I had only known alone. Still, it wasn’t Paris. I wasn’t prepared for that yet. I had nearly gagged when we arrived at the airport, on the walk down the clinical white border to customs. Neither Will nor I said a word. There was a small queue, because of a dirty-looking man holding up progress. A woman in a pressed blue shirt and ill-fitting black pants had unzipped his suitcase to find a disgusting pile of rotting black pods* that reminded me of the ones I had collected when I was young, as they fell off the trees with the change of seasons. She was lifting them up one by one with a silver caliper.
What do You think about Extraordinary Theory Of Objects?
