The Pale Protocol
Act I March 12 It is a fact that the dead do not pay for the living’s mistakes. I am thirty-two years old, an apprentice at the Loera & Sons funeral home, and I want the blue silk scarf from the window display on Rua das Flores to prove I am not my mother. The shop owner, a man who smells of stale tobacco and wet wool, refuses my credit card. He cites a "protocol" for women of my station, a...
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