Sage peers around the darkend room, the purplish tinge on the ceiling a reflection of the outside neon light bouncing off of the sea of fuchia paint on the ground. She's looking for the pale glow of another low-sun-expsure-pastey-white Northwesterner. "Mary Garvey, do you remember your recipe for lefse? I think I have a box of cookbooks out in my pickup truck, but I hate to turn my socks purple by wading out to get one."

Feathers drift down from near the top of the tree as the small monkey busily grooms the duck and tosses unattached feathers so they'll drift beyond the tree out to the floor.