“She was most comfortable in transit, on buses, planes, trains, shuttling between points. In constant motion, she didn’t have to solidify into one person. Looking out the train windows, she saw bright-green rice fields. The flat mirror of the window reflected her back. No sign of the fractures within. Past. Present. Her old self from ten years earlier, all those lost dreams.”
“I can’t look back. If I had a thousand origami cranes, I would wish for my old life, but now it’s just a dream I once had.”
“In a claustrophobic bar with black walls, she listened to fables about gangs of head-hunters, about vampires in the flesh-pits of Bangkok, about haunted houses absorbing lonely seniors. A few smudged columns of type in any newspaper would reveal atrocities as unreal, love stories as strange, dreams as unlikely. Fact and fantasy blended together, a potent brew of ‘this is’ followed by a ‘what if’ chaser. She had dreamed it; therefore, it would come to pass.”