The corridor opened into the room where the rumble of tires was unrelenting. I turned cardboard in for something like a dollhouse, a tiny figure of someone burning a candle inside that I could almost touch, but didn’t for fear of breaking their clearly encompassing concentration.

Stairs of all walks. A heavy book filled with words all in a jumble that I was trying to decipher, like looking again at where you grew up, curious how others seem to be able to see something there you still find missing.