hand bound journal, embroidered with a William Morris style sugar skull.
Merriam stops by, looking for cash, maybe once a month around four. She brings her nicest things. The first time I meet her, the words stretch and hang from the scab at the corner of her mouth.
She has really nice things. They're worth more than I can give, but she is in a hurry. Merriam doesn't have the time that I have. She's on her way to mass.