Transcription

The facade of the hotel had been recently refinished, its polish incongruous with the old church and the clinic and the bare life on the street. If it weren’t for the singer, Eva might not exist; songs are instruments of fate. Or was it some defense against the reality of losing him—a way to turn it into fiction? And now she was clearly experiencing some general anxiety, some upset: she wasn’t being bullied, but there was social drama among the third-grade girls.