It was a start. Her room crowded into her, sweeping her like a mama panda towards the window where her book, and pencil, and the chair she got off the scruffy little thief, lay collectively orphaned

You could see the unwashed linen of a sky hovering over the city. Ima held on to her blue Japanese mug, sifting through her chaos to find the words that would start it all off.

Her book, her pencil and the chair she settled her butt on decided to stay mute.