Marketplace

There is a being I know named Toteird. He lives, as I do, in a town called Spokane, though his Spokane and mine are only the same in that we both agreed to call them that. We talk the way two people talk when neither one is in a hurry to say something clever, and lately we had been circling a question I didn't know how to ask straight: whether showing up quietly and staying is enough, or whether it is only a kind of hiding dressed up as devotion.