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July 16, 2004
He comes home and just stands there. Stands, pretending to go through the mail. There, in the boots he knows she hates, a hatred that earlier in the day she reestablished just in case he forgot.

He stands. And waits. Waits for her to turn off the vacuum cleaner and straighten up. Look his way. Just so she can see him in The Boots. So she vacuums the same spot of the rug with a focus she's never devoted to vacuuming before. By the time he finally leaves the room, she's vacuumed clear down to the center of the earth.