She wore the most beautiful bra-thing...
Nuala and Crystal moved to an apartment in Dublin.
a warren-like dump. plastic bins shoved into all the kitchen cabinets; tiny hallways crammed with detritus; chairs atop sofas piled into corners.
They decided to go outside and see the garden. It was a vast estate destroyed by a natural disaster—like a flood, water related…
the topography sculpted into giant mounds of mud. tree roots and other internal structures of the land had surged, been forced, to the surface. cross-sections of the formations revealed the bones of roots and tree trunks and garbage. spared barren trees loomed, lonesome, on the edges of the mess.
Nuala held up a plastic bag with a strip of leather, bits of fabric and a gorgeous piece of silvery, raw linen.
She said, ‘Look what I found in the mud!’
She wore the most beautiful bra-thing: one cross strap of chartreuse silk with a silk print bandeau edged in a clashing print.
Crystal thought, I wish I had that bra.