Friday afternoon in Holland Village, down the street with the red tin mailboxes, there were pistachio and strawberry mint gelati for a hot day.

At home, after, the mynah birds called in the garden. “Your bed is comfy,” CC said, lying down. “I know,” I said, “so stay.” “I will,” she said, and closed her eyes. Me, too, I stretched out on the cold white tiles of my bedroom floor, and Satie sounded like the afternoon standing still while the fan whirred back and forth.