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Everyone Has a Name
They saw it on a Friday on the way to Brooklyn. The wicker loveseat, right out there, straddling the center line one April afternoon. Its wood was deeply tarnished but Dell instantly fell in love with it. It looked like it had been worn with age, weather, and disproportionate use even. And so, the ugly loveseat from the center of the interstate became the first piece of real furniture in Pat and Dell's new home.

It took about and hour to unload Pat's truck and unpack everything. There wasn't much to unpack. In the living room sat the wicker loveseat across from an old wooden rocking chair made of beach wood the previous house owners had left behind. Stretched out on the floor between the two was a woven auburn blanket, a sad attempt at a rug.
The kitchen was furnished with a concrete countertop about three feet long, a cooler that stood at knees length, a cupboard made of thick plywood, and enough space for a chair. The walls were a pale blue and reminded Dell of a baby's nursery, and she stopped to wonder if perhaps it had been someday. At the far-off end of the room, which wasn't very far at all, was a pale yellow door with a window that almost perfectly framed the tin garbage cans of the alleyway out back.
"Dell!" bellowed Pat from the upstairs bedroom. "You've got to see this!" Dell made her way up the oak-wood stairs, worn and no more attractive than the first floor, that led up to a loft and took up the entire second floor. Daylight evaded the room through windows that started at the baseboards and ended just above the ceilings and lightened the raw wood floors. In the center of the loft rested two iron bed frames and a pale green nightstand. A ceiling fan stirred the airy room like a pot of soup. Pat peered out the window and down the street where a young couple held hands and giggled like children.
"Depressing," she groaned.
"It's only depressing because it's not you down there." Pat winced.
"What do you think this city has for us, Dell" Fortune? Maybe love?" she asked draping an arm around her sister's shoulders.
"God knows pat. For now lets just hope this whole trip wasn't the worst mistake of our lives."

Dell and Pat decided to christen the house the way any other teenagers who had just moved out of mommy's house to live in the Big Apple would, with a six pack of Dr. Pepper a bag of Doritos, a jar of peanut butter and a CD of Frank Sinatra's greatest hits. Pat stretched out on the floor with an issue

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