By Henry Presente

Charming Garbage (Fiction)

As my home crumbles around us, my fat French uncle tells me again about all the things he secretly fixed in France, him and his clandestine band of merry men scurrying around the tunnels underneath Paris, popping up like moles with mallets and wrenches in the city’s neglected landmarks, fixing things–months on end–fixing things no one even knew were broken. And finally it is too much. “Then why can’t you fix the damn leak in the roof?” I blow after three weeks of his charming garbage. “Why can’t you get the bathtub to drain? With a working disposal, maybe ants…