The sky has been inked for almost twenty minutes. The air is in a state of flow, but the city feels stale. Sluggish. Ma is pacing the room. The eclipse has made a puddle of her. “Such a nuisance!” She exclaims when Papa and I question her petulance. “Today, of all days. When I have so much to do already.” Ma is religious and superstitious, and as soon as the…
