Unchained Memory

After I finished running my sister's errands, I went to her apartment to "report back," as she had demanded. She was wrapped in a hand-woven quilt and asleep on her burgundy wingback chair, which she had acquired from the estate of Britain's royal family in a devious bet.

She had left a video playing last night -- old footage of her once famous Vaudeville act. I know she loved seeing her name on the marquis, but it all ended when she created a skit that was considered distastefully racist, even at a time when the KKK's popularity had peaked.