"age" he said " is a pigment turning white by side of ears; a demarker line that traverses cheeks and temple, neck, and arm curvature, until it disappears at the palm as dry rivers. It is the number we are known by, a grand lie spoken well enough for others to believe, but beneath it all, I am still the kid pasting small wiggle wings on kites with rice paste...."

And with that, he quietly mended clothes for living and stitched velvet armrests for the departed..