Friday evening. The four of us have washed up on the shore of the weekend. We have survived the storms of the week and are relieved to have reached dry land. But husband Va-vay's weekend gets off to a bad start. He returns home bearing a broken laptop, silently carrying it up the stairs to our flat, held out in front of him like a
bird with a broken wing that he intends to nurse back to health. His look is doleful. It's understandable. This calamity hurts Va-vay more than it would most...
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