It was a hard day. How many times had we heard our mother rejoice, “If anything ever goes wrong, at least we have this house”? I swear, whenever she said anything like that, I felt jinxed, and when the for sale sign went up, I felt as if it was somehow her fault. The house had come to them free of charge from my father’s uncle, back when they’d moved to Hollow Ford from London just after my father came home from Vietnam. Stuck between two shag-carpet bi-levels with out-of-ground pools and the yellow glow of colonial-style bug lamps on new aluminum siding, our little sixty-year-old house looked dignified but run-down. It could barely compete. But any money was better than no money, and my parents needed any money. In the time it took to find another place to live, some lucky family from Ohio agreed to pay my father $85,000 for our house. Over the next few weeks, I helped move the furniture we had left out into the yard, along with the rest of our redundant material clutter for a garage sale that earned us about two hundred bucks.
What do You think about The Dust Of 100 Dogs (2008)?
