Everything is in danger of being subsumed, any minute, by the great wall of debris, which looks like it is swaying on failing foundations. It was more of a squalor situation, even though the gentleman had died in the house.
I tell her I can work around her schedule. Glenda has started to get upset. And twenty years later, here I am.
Behind us, on a busted navy sofa, four other carriers holding four other cats are lined up in a row. They are winding up her phone charger and putting her handbag near the door. Sandra Pankhurst, trauma cleaning service provider.
Sandra returns to the necessary business of cauterizing. We step outside for a moment. Glenda is in danger of being thrown out of her home, which was intended as temporary housing for women in crisis, after packing it full of debris during her five-year stay.
You could say that Sandra knows her clients as well as they know themselves. Neither do firefighters or ambulance crews or emergency services. I see a viscous smear of human shit on the floor under the couch. But that is not how Sandra is going out.
She airs out their smells. The basket of clean laundry. In her sixties, Sandra is very tall and graceful and immaculately groomed.
She throws out their weird porn and the last of their DNA entombed in soaps.
And worked for years as a grief counsellor. The room appears to be undulating; everything is floating on top of everything else like flotsam on a roiling sea. Sandra has a quick look inside. When these powerful enzymes come into contact with furnishing and the like, deterioration is rapid. We had to take off three layers of flooring, and there was another contaminated layer of flooring underneath.
The rest of it is the same neon pink as her T-shirt. Pain is a lunatic landscape, where every piece, however misshapen, fits perfectly. The smell of death unnoticed for two and a half weeks that is seeping in through my mask and into my mouth.
Instead, they bought a hardware store in Brighton, a moneyed seaside suburb, which eventually folded. I see a big bottle of Pepsi Max, still full, and a pack of cigarettes on the table. In recounting her standoff with the organization which she wonher use of expletives is beautiful; listening to her swear is like watching Michelangelo paint the Sistine Chapel.
How to wrap the tape around the top so that it is easy for the family to open. Laundry cupboard in the tiny foyer, the dryer door opened wide. It can happen to anyone. We are in the cafe, a place where the sick and dying, and those attending to them, can grab a latte or a cheese sandwich.
When she speaks, she is mostly professional and deliberate. The workers are efficient, they are quick and respectful.
But I still had the brochure, which, by then, had grabbed me by the neck and was dragging me in search of the woman herself.
Sandra is wearing a slimline purple parka, jeans and white canvas sneakers. The four small rooms, plus basement storage cage, are an encyclopedia of striving and struggle.
I sneak a glance at the others to figure out how to put them on. But what happened was, the last layer was not only glued down, but it was stapled down. Everyone has been reduced to a small face sticking out of a disposable white hood.Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying and Siddhartha Gautama Buddha - At the turn of the twentieth century with the industrial revolution in full effect the world was becoming a more modern place.
Long been recognized not only as one of William Faulkner’s greatest works, but also as the most accessible of his major novels. This Norton Critical Edition is based on the corrected text and is accompanied by detailed explanatory annotations.
“Backgrounds and Contexts” is divided into Price: $ How a transgender Australian found her niche cleaning up after murders, suicides, and unimaginable filth of endless variation.Download