Looking at the jackets piled messily on the bed in the spare room, spilling into each other like puppies huddling for comfort, while her parents and their friends played an interminable card game at the good table in the dining room again, she wondered.
Maybe they need warmth, from us or from each other, just like we do, and separating them on hangers in dark closets, rigidly and helplessly suspended, barely touching, a sleeve here or collar there, is an exquisite torture unwittingly perpetrated.
