Gг©nг©rique -

His wife looked up. Her face was symmetrical and pleasant, the kind of face you forget the moment you turn away. "The real what, Elias?"

"The details," he said, gesturing to the smooth, featureless walls. "The scratches on the floor. The logos on the milk carton. The names of the streets. Everything here is just... a category." GГ©nГ©rique

He got out of bed, dressed in his , and walked out the door. He didn't look back at the HOUSE . He walked toward the edge of the gray, toward the brown dirt and the rusted metal, waiting for the moment the credits would finally roll so the real movie could begin. His wife looked up