After the dinner of rising losses, in the bedroom, where open finds shut, shut finds open, a sprawled business shirt crosses the flowered spread. Its armless sleeve in the rut between two pillow with matching bolsters. A sole cufflink, like a dignified mourner, ignored the calls of a telephonic pollster. Its brother is abandoned in the corner, by the shoe boxes arrayed in columns of flats, high heels and sneakers for the gym; sneakers worn down by her vow given solemnly: “If I lose weight, I won’t mind losing him.” In her closet, pantsuits size 8, size 6 size 4 And tiny cut-offs hanging from the door.