Before the rats came, following the wavering fishline of her newborn cry, they found her among pearly slime of gutted mussel shells, fish rot, jackfruit rind, and scabbed plastic in the harbor dump. Sixteen and solemn, walled in her street stand's ink perfume by the gloss of fashionable faces, as well as @3Time@1 and @3Fortune@1, she waits behind the gray rain-drape of the monsoon for a face to match her mirrors'. |