I’m home from school in seventh grade, playing Max Payne. The older sister of my granny, Leni, never even went to seventh grade. Around 1944, it was more helpful to smuggle cooking oil across the Czechoslovakian-Hungarian border. When she was caught, border patrol let her go because she was only a child. Rain is falling down, wind is blowing in the heated room. Glowing oranges are rolling into the puddle she was wading through back in those days. Among cattails, we see the old Leni now, eating orange. She buried her husband, two sons and her younger brother at this point. And since then, we buried her.
But she will be sitting on this image forever now.