He laughed.
I tried to laugh along, my voice popping like corns in the oven.
It’s not funny, he shouted.
What is? I tried to justify.
What? he shouted.
It was pointless.
The smoke from the kerosene lamp was killing me. I was sure my nostrils were black like the furnace.
I stared at the shadows on the wall and smiled.
What’s funny? he shouted.
Nothing, I said, and counted cracks on the wooden floor.
cosmic dust 