CASHMERE AND SILK

He was part of a great family once.  Years of deception, torment, and greed had erased them from the memory of most.  It was a strange thing to visit his apartment, evidence of his family’s past lay asunder in that place.  Antique silver jewelry boxes containing old rings with large stones sat atop English wooden tables among hand carved armoires and old tailored coats with astrakhan collars.  He couldn’t pay his rent but he had his grandmothers 2 million dollar Van Cleef & Arpels engagement ring sitting in a bowl containing spare keys and random odds-and-ends he did not know what to do with. 

His dear sister was in a worse position than he, having just spoke to her from a pawn shop, selling off the remnants of her jewelry box.  He tried to disregard the anger boiling within him.  Such is life, he told himself.  It was arduous, though, living with the memory of their old existence.  At the time, of course, he took it all for granted.  But now, eating tuna out of a can and watching a tv without cable in an apartment without heat, it was rather hard to ignore.  But he did still have that 80-ply cashmere and silk blanket from days past, it was thankfully there to keep him warm.

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