The streets are crowded. Conversations, cell phones, men in business suits walking swiftly. The click of heels, the honking of horns. Taxis pass, hold up a hand. Birds crow, street lights flicker. Nervous expressions, confident ones. Smiles. Frowns.

 

A quaint shop nestled between towering factories. Quiet and ignored, its mannequins watch with dignity as strange faces appear and disappear from one moment to the next. Lavish masks, feathered ones, sequined and weighted with gaudy fake jewels.

 

“What business is there in selling masks?” she would ask.

 

I would reply, “Everyone wears a mask.”

 

“These ones are plastic.”

 

“They all are.”