This is only a fraction of the clothes that have to be sorted, ironed and found a home somewhere in the Slum.
Sadly, I have neither the photographic talent, nor a wide enough lens, to capture the others that currently hang from picture hooks, door handles or lie crumpled in pockets all over the house.
The iron and I have never really been close, a relationship that is currently being further strained by having to spend long periods of time in each other's company. And my trigger finger hurts from over-use of the steam button.
Still, finally being in possession of all my belongings (not to mention precious photos and kitchen utensils) gives me an undeniable swell in the vicinity of my heart.
If only there was an iron I could apply to the Slum to make it look better...
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