• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 03


I know you when you’re old.

The tired defiance in your eyes has been replaced by wisdom and patience.

You have grown a pipe in the place of the roll-your-own. Just like now for intimidation purposes only, clearly. No smoke signals.

The Austrian man who paints you (or is it a Hungarian woman?) clearly says “Zigeunerin”, but for an international auction the title is changed to “A Native American Woman Smoking a Pipe”.

See if you care.

A Mittel-European native. Once young, now old, waiting for all else to fail.

I come upon you searching for an image, a particular one.

One that would show how I see myself.

Fancy seeing us here again.