All past scenes. All mummified in vintage yellow police tape, displaying warding epithets in four different languages. They were all the abandoned stages of other players. The disarrayed remnants of a wild performance with abused props still scattered where they had been disposed of. This time, I figured, it was my own stage, my own script and my own trio of acts. Somewhere distant, past the imperceptibly sprawling borders of the city. I saw the fragments of an origami Bengal tiger folded by your hands crumble and scatter on an unbound wind, and wished I was there. fragments of an origami tiger | 
