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The
easy-care
textured
lacquer
of
my
Kalix
occasional
tables
.
My
Steg
nesting
tables
.
You
buy
furniture
.
You
tell
yourself
,
this
is
the
last
sofa
I
will
ever
need
in
my
life
.
Buy
the
sofa
,
then
for
a
couple
years
you
're
satisfied
that
no
matter
what
goes
wrong
,
at
least
you
've
got
your
sofa
issue
handled
.
Then
the
right
set
of
dishes
.
Then
the
perfect
bed
.
The
drapes
.
The
rug
.
Then
you
're
trapped
in
your
lovely
nest
,
and
the
things
you
used
to
own
,
now
they
own
you
.
Until
I
got
home
from
the
airport
.
The
doorman
steps
out
of
the
shadows
to
say
,
there
's
been
an
accident
.
The
police
,
they
were
here
and
asked
a
lot
of
questions
.
The
police
think
maybe
it
was
the
gas
.
Maybe
the
pilot
light
on
the
stove
went
out
or
a
burner
was
left
on
,
leaking
gas
,
and
the
gas
rose
to
the
ceiling
,
and
the
gas
filled
the
condo
from
ceiling
to
floor
in
every
room
.
The
condo
was
seventeen
hundred
square
feet
with
high
ceilings
and
for
days
and
days
,
the
gas
must
've
leaked
until
every
room
was
full
.
When
the
rooms
were
filled
to
the
floor
,
the
compressor
at
the
base
of
the
refrigerator
clicked
on
.
Detonation
.
The
floor-to-ceiling
windows
in
their
aluminum
frames
went
out
and
the
sofas
and
the
lamps
and
dishes
and
sheet
sets
in
flames
,
and
the
high
school
annuals
and
the
diplomas
and
telephone
.
Everything
blasting
out
from
the
fifteenth
floor
in
a
sort
of
solar
flare
.
Oh
,
not
my
refrigerator
.
I
'd
collected
shelves
full
of
different
mustards
,
some
stone-ground
,
some
English
pub
style
.
There
were
fourteen
different
flavors
of
fat-free
salad
dressing
,
and
seven
kinds
of
capers
.
