by Ea Anderson Alonso Reyes I have always wanted something rich and round; cherries, a house with a tower, a fat husband; voluptuous, like an opera singer or at least someone who didn’t dress in grey. Wooden floors in a warm colour, thick glasses of red wine, thick liquids in general. A farmhouse, a chaiselongue to be languid on. My parents were skinny as sticks. My mother had easy access to tears, my father was completely without hobbies or interests. I was fat and red as a