The girl who lived in our home was sold into servitude to pay off the irresponsible purchase of an airplane, imagine! Her sister and mother and father sacrificing her for an airplane, and so for years she lived alone. And the white men who are now extinct trampled her elbows one day in the field, but a prince, a prince wearing a dirty ivory suit fell for her despite her missing elbows, and he tried hard to care for her. But the girl didn’t feel fully content to be with him. Yes, yes, he was beautiful, with full lips and high cheekbones, his skin almost navy, but the prince was also a kleptomaniac, his soft hands could not stop the un-authorized collection of others’ property, and the girl sometimes despised falling asleep next to him, in a bed that was too small for both of their bodies, and waking up with him, covered in the heaviness of his legs, the human chaos and warmth of heavy legs, and she sometimes also despised hanging up his ivory suits outside with wooden clothespins. The girl especially despised her job working for the white men who are now extinct, despised it so much that she would go to watch her bosses on her day off, every Tuesday, staring at them with contempt. And she could not forget that her family was gone, gone-gone, not gone as in dead, but in what she believed to be a voluntary exile, so eventually she abandoned the kleptomaniac prince too, to be consistent with the actions of her blood. He died alone in the kitchen, with all the objects he had stolen surrounding his body (golden earrings, chairs, quilts, and machetes), and the girl went to live on the Enflamed Mountain, which everyone knows will be gone soon, the wind is cutting it down, the entire mountain will be gone, gone-gone, it’s erosion due to the wind and the change in the climate.

The community of seven did not wear suits. In fact they hated suits, perhaps because their grandparents had bequeathed them their own tarnished and hole-ridden dark blue, burgundy, ivory, gray three-piece suits. The grandparents had rigorously emphasized the importance of the suits and their washing, which was only to be done in the river. They had also provided their grandchildren with specific instructions on how to hang them up to dry, with wooden clothespins.

And so the seven refused to wear suits; they wore white dresses, blankets, and scarves—anything that would not confine them, anything that lacked buttons.

The seven agreed on mostly everything, but they could not agree on two things: 1) how they all met, and 2) who was the best looking.

Some thought they had met in the field, others thought they had met swimming in the river, the rest thought they had met near the bicycle tree.

They each found themself to be the best looking.