My sister is the only person who understands why I’ve stopped taking off my coat. And the only one who tries to think of a solution. Our evenings are filled with this. Sometimes I get afraid that one of her solutions is going to work, that I’ll take away something from my sister, because as long as we still have desires we’re safe from death, draped around the farm’s shoulders like the suffocating smell after a day of muck-spreading. At the same time my red coat is fading, just like my image of Matthies.
