I enter the house in the Bronx through a side door as long as we've been visiting this Aunt we've always gotten off the train and walked up the hill/slid in the garden door. This time she isn't here,the hospital has finished her off and she went peacefully in a semi-coma-no one around to bug her-she had said her piece -Shut the garage door-they're all pigs the ones who called us ''dirty." On the bannister is her purse-a black marshmellow leather with a snap. I sigh and put my hand through the handle,seperate deom the groip who has gathered to either attend the meeting of the tenents who love here or to mourn. On the bag are gloves elbow length white leather/ in a thin brown paper bag,(never been worn),her black wallet with cards and photos-thirty-seven dollars. At the bottom of the pursewas a document and my name and address was on it. It is some sort of telephone referral-she was getting a new company when she got sick.