On a deserted stretch of ocean shore, in an empty house, on a kitchen table, in a glass of milk, stood a shiny spoon. For seven months it stood there, unprotected against the salt tang in the air, the dampness, the lactic acid of the milk.
Across the kitchen stood a gas stove, slowly rusting. In the living room, on the hearth, a set of fire-irons covered with aluminum and bronze paint, rusted slowly. Copper and brass bowls, candlelabras, ashtrays, spent the seven months covering themselves with verdigris....
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