“Mind if I take the wine rack?”

And so it started.  Cautionary Husband has begun moving out.  We stopped by his landlord’s house on our way into town from visiting my family.  He picked up his keys and we went over to see the place for the first time since November.  Cautionary Dog immediately pooed in the master bedroom, and I must’ve told CH I told him so about fifty times, since he insisted that we did not need to find CD a patch of grass before going in.  It was a long car ride.

Now I’m home.  I took the Frank Sinatra Christmas album off my record player and put on Bryter Layter to listen to “Fly” on vinyl for the first time.  CH has gone to Target to buy carpet cleaner and officially began moving out.  He took his tent, Christmas presents, and the wine rack with him.  Along with the first rent check.  The separation has officially begun.

This is the last time to come home to the place that’s felt most like home in this city.  I will miss most of all the way it smells.  Old.  Like varnished floors and 100 years of tenants’ souls.  Kitchen lemon and laundry.  Dusty books.  Records.

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