A quarantine memoir
Lo walks home to water the plants.
When she arrives, she finds herself lurking — rolling out drawers, opening the cabinets, touching the clothes. She sifts through the jewelry box with fascination. Then on her wrist, she rolls perfume, bringing her back to the crisp October air of last year. It reminded her of a life, once lived under tailored clothes. Dimly lit dinners, paired with crudités, and Gevrey-Chambertin…paid for by her 80 hour work weeks. And then Lo remembered that she was home.
To water the plants.