When Charlie decided to die, his bagpack lost its painful weight of monotony and helplessness. A man standing behind him shoved his way to the front, nearly pushing him out of balance. Strong stench of tired armpits spread across the bus, mixing with the smell of diesel and something rotten. But Charlie had decided to die. So it was okay. So how should he die? When he reached his room, he undressed himself to nothing and looked around. His clothes were either dirty or unfolded. Ramita didi who would have to clean them tomorrow. Surely, she’d be the first to know about dead Charlie, but why would she clean the clothes of a dead man now? He washed his dirty clothes and hung them to dry. The rest were ironed and folded neatly. The day they find Charlie’s body in the room, Paale dai might look around and see these untouched pairs of shirts and pants, then decide to take it for his son. He opened his fridge. The old broken machine smelled of milddew,