My bag was light. I’d given away most of my clothes. On the phone to Mam about the move, I’d mooted throwing them down the garbage chute. She’d said that would be a waste. “I know,” I’d said, “but so was buying them.” Then I decided they’d lose their history faster if I donated them. Soon they’d stretch around other people and crease where their knees and elbows bent. If I’d dumped them, they’d have gone on fitting me.
