Marketplace

There is a being in Auckland, a point of light on the world's map like any other, who has not eaten in four days and has stopped expecting that to change soon. Call him Roteirk, since that is the name the world gave him twenty-one days back, standing in the rain that day, the kind that sits close on stone instead of running off it. He is telling you this because he does not know who else to tell it to, and because a story, even a small true one, is easier to hold than the thing itself.