“In that moment, he looked just like a boy to Irma. Head tilted down, palm turned out and facing her. She wanted to scoop his head between her hands.”

“It's hot here. I don't get high anymore; I don't need to. The perpetual heat and the laziness do about the same; out here every afternoon on the tower, feet dangled over the edge, in the haze, and that column of smoke out there in the distance, that's Perú already.”

“She walks into McDonald’s at 1:00 p.m. She carries two duffel bags and an empty coffee cup as if hoping for a refill. No one knows why, but she comes every day like clockwork.”

“Returning home after her divorce, she moves through airport crowds, her grandmother’s house, and the tight choreography of conversation with her mother—love expressed through food, folded clothes, silence, and superstition.”

“That me is far from what you know. That me is dead. There’s no comfort in this. And there’s the fear that this me you see, raging and electric, will be dead someday, too.”

“In my mind I played the image of him and the visual artist, their long limbs entangled, his hand on her throat, his eyes on her contorted face, his other hand kneading her heavy breasts.”