Aileen thinks of the pages of proofs in her bag, considers disproving them. She checks the closest shelf. There, just within easy reach, the sideways-turned eye-catcher book is called Four Stories. In English. That is, the book is in English, that’s not the title.
And No Waiting, thinks Aileen, as she draws the book from the shelf.
In Number 10 Kensington Drive, there were four stories. Really, there were any number of stories, but for our purposes, we’ll narrow it to four.
read the introduction. Read Aileen. She turned the page. Thick, creamy ivory pages, no elephants harmed in the making of.
The First Story
Grounded, but open to guests and suggestions, Irene Schwartz was a widow, an accountant, a mother of two, and an excellent baker. A friendly and measured woman, her recipes were precise, the smells her raisin bread, carrot cake, and applesauce surprise offered warmed the whole building, and her generosity in offering slices or plates of Just A Little Something was appreciated by all of the tenants. It’s safe to say she was the foundation of the building. Perhaps there was something deeper, something behind or beneath her, but the appearance she offered of solid productivity and genuine kindness was more than any of her neighbors could ask for. Her two boys long since gone and married, Mrs. Schwartz herself is the first story of Number 10 Kensington Drive.
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