long.
It occupied a converted storefront with broad windows and shelves filled with pieces at every stage of becoming something. Some were glossy and finished. Others stood gray and vulnerable, their surfaces carrying fingerprints and small corrections.
Sabrina waited near the entrance in a lavender top and dark jeans, her hair tied back.
She handed me an apron.
“Necessary?”
“Very.”
I looked around. “I’m beginning to understand why this activity doesn’t depend on looking dignified.”
“An excellent early insight.”
The instructor greeted her by name and showed me where to
