![]() ![]() The sun beams through the glass door which frames the New Mexico landscape behind the house. I leave it on one of the national news stations for background noise. I press the Power button on the remote and the flat screen television in the living room hums to life. ![]() Looks like I’m mostly packing my own stuff. ![]() My growing collection of clothes and wigs and jewelry and makeup and plethora of shoes. There are no family portraits hanging in a neat line on the walls down the hallway, or keepsake items sitting on a shelf given to him by important people which he can’t bear to part with for sentimental reasons. The cabinets in his kitchen aren’t stocked with expensive matching dishes that only get taken out of their neat little spot on holidays and special occasions. ![]() His closets are not cluttered with old shoe boxes and stacks of keep-just-in-case paperwork, or clothes that he hasn’t worn in five years. He doesn’t have a ‘junk drawer’ where he tosses miscellaneous items that will sit there unused for a lifetime. My goal for the day is to pack as much of the house as I can, though that shouldn’t be too difficult since Victor’s closets and such are devoid of the average person’s daily living. Since the Krav Maga studio location has been ‘compromised’, as Victor calls it, he feels it’s best that we move from New Mexico as soon as possible. ![]()
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