When I’m back from a vanguard run, they all say they can’t understand me. My neighbors, my family, my lover, they all ask, how do you do it?

Zan. Zendegi. Azaadi. Woman. Life. Freedom. They Fear Our Open Hair:

The shift room did not exist until the third-floor renovation. No design had it, and no one mentioned it in orientation.

The life sharing river glistened in late fall sunshine. Banks shifted, and softly crumbled in. Multicolored fish darted among the reeds growing along the gently splashing edges.

Fingers twisted from arthritis. A wet bandage over his right hand seeping a wound the local healer had inflicted. Trying, failing, to fix a hand only decade shy of a century.