The Pigovian Payment_A Source of Comfort_First? Day of School_The Beautiful Game
Catalog Guide:
The Pigovian Payment
“Let me tell you how I got this flower." I rubbed my lapel with the white rose boutonniere and stared across the hard wood surface at the man in the bowtie, his gaze stern and expressiwww.onedoor.cconless."OK, Let me start at the beginning-"I smelled her outside the door before she ever knocked, aromas of spring flowers, lavender, and crisp $100 dollar bills.It was 11 AM and the sun was streaming through the dust floating in my cramped office. Coffee thick as tar slowly steamed next to me. I was wearing my powder blue suit, dark blue tie over a white shirt. I was clean, shaved and hungover. The day loomed l...
A Source of Comfort
“Did you know they filtered their water?”“Anna.”“Built the whole system themselves. They even had heated pools. And, to carve the Al-Khazneh-”“Anna-”“-they would start from the top and work their way down. The stairs they used are still there, and there’s even, like, imprinted ladders on the sides. It’s incredible.”“We’re here.”“What? Oh.” My rambling halted along with my feet. I stared at the storefront, the sidewalk broken and wobbly beneath my boots. The brick walls standing tall, if a bit dirtied, but what part of this city wasn’t coated in a fine layer of grime. A metal sign hung high ov...
First? Day of School
“Honey, do you have your lunch?” I watch my mother’s lips in the rearview mirror of our car. She is worried, which makes sense since it’s my first day at a new school, despite being three months into the school year.“Don’t worry, Mom. It’s right here. I also have my backpack, my new notebooks, crayons, and a book in case I have free reading time.” I’m trying to calm my mother down, which is ironic because really I should be more nervous than she is. After all, I’m the one starting a new school in the middle of the school year, and to top it all off, I also have a secret to weigh me down.“Okay,...
The Beautiful Game
It was heart-warming to greet everyone outside the crematorium before the service, but to say we were a close family was a stretch. My father’s remaining relatives only communicated by annual greeting card or whenever there was a wedding or funeral. It was so long since I’d seen most of them; I struggled to recognise their faces, let alone remember their names. I’m embarrassed to confess, but I resorted to strategically mumbling my appreciation when they offered their condolences. As they clutched my hand and promised me their undying support, I wondered if my father’s departure had reminded t...