The broken lock was the least of my problems. The door
opened drunkenly on one hinge. The table in my front room had been upturned.
Black dirt speckled with white particles of plant food covered the floor. It intermingled
with the dirt were the remains of the pot and the spider plant it had contained.
The kitchen was in an even worse state. All the drawers had been shaken out, everything
smashed. The mouse cookie jar my mother had given me was shattered. It was the
first thing I noticed in the pile of silverware, broken plates, and shattered
glass.
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