Carmen’s whole life was trapped inside about a hundred brown cardboard moving boxes. She was late for work. Running up and
down the hall, moaning.
James was trying to read the morning paper...
"Where is my 'gel'?"
"Your what?"
"My 'gel', my 'gel'! Don’t you call it 'gel' in
English? That thing you use to clean up your…"
"Your sins?"
"Whose sins are you talking about? I’m just asking if you’ve seen my 'however the hell you call it in English' inside any of the boxes
we’ve…
