Alice Kopp is taking over my life and I don't know who she is. Her body may be gone but her books remain and it is my esteemed job to sort through the 25 brown boxes of novels, periodicals, reference materials, travel guides, language books, dictionaries, and all other forms of WORD that she had collected over her seemingly long and venerated life.
I can smell her house. I can smell her cats and it's in my hair, in my nose, and in my clothes so much of every week that I feel like 'Alice Kopp.' Together we discovered 'The Gateway to France', 'World Religions', Portugal, France, Italy, Korea, Japan... Or rather, it is as if I were looking over her shoulder as she poured her life over these books and then over these whispered locales. In this red swivel chair, I've gone to more places than I ever thought to before. Through the pictures and the fingerprints I imagine staining every cover, I've touched, smelled, and tasted many spices.
The truth is, Alice Kopp is my job.
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