twenty-eight

Emma looked around Izzy’s house. Their houses were a lot alike, except they weren’t really, because there was different furniture inside each. Except that furniture tended to disappear into rooms, and become unnoticed. Pictures on walls stood out, and wall colours stood out, but Izzy didn’t have anything on her walls, perhaps because she was renting, and all the walls were the same neutral colour they must have been painted when they were made, the same colour as Emma’s.

Izzy didn’t have anything on her walls, and Emma didn’t have anything on hers either. Emma didn’t have anything because she hadn’t yet put anything up. Because she was worried and lazy and thought too much, and because she was a bit odd, sometimes, after too much time on her own.

Emma thought about that, wondering if Izzy would find it strange if she ever came to visit, and saw the empty walls, and had to step around all the boxes on the floor.

Emma hardly noticed the boxes any more, but she assumed someone else would.

She assumed that, and she really didn’t want Izzy to think she was odd.

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