Lulled by books

I USED to live in a house the memory of which still brings melancholic feelings. In the backyard a pungent smell hung in the air. It came from next door; my neighbour loved to raise and slaughter chickens.

A wisp of smoke rose from the other neighbour’s house. The smell of burnt bird waste nauseated me throughout my teenage years but I could not complain to anyone for I lived there alone – most of the time.