[ the beat of silence implies something unsaid, though kaveh couldn't guess where the words begin and what form and shape they ought to take. but people are much like that, kaveh thinks. in a situation like this where primary occupations have been tossed out the window and there's an entire empty world spanning ahead, that's all they have time for: to think, to ruminate, and to let these ideas spiral. kaveh knows; it's why his hands can't remain idle, or that self-same gap is one where kaveh will too exist in in a form a little too much like himself, a little too much unlike himself. but day threes are much like this - post-modern, with even the clothes on kaveh's back seemingly searing themselves into the very palette of his skin.

coworkers, the man says. kaveh considers this. ]

Well, there's no need to tear anything off. If we find something you like, I'll have it tailored for you. [ the jacket goes flopping over a rack that kaveh mentally calls 'keepsies'. he pulls another jacket out, this time in a dark shade of red. ] It's too bad that my tailor didn't come around to this city with me - he's a peach, very skilled, keeps threatening to never tailor anything for me again because he hasn't ever stopped complaining about how my torso's just a little too short and my arms are a little too long, and I think he'd rather I just never show up at his door again. [ hm. the red jacket gets put back. ] Still, he's a miraclemaker, and I've managed to learn a thing or two just listening to him.

So if you're used to tearing the sleeve off, then other people where you come from don't have a limb like yours? And why don't you like the colour blue?