She scribbles out half-legible notes on anything she can find. What’s in them isn’t nearly as important as whether or not anybody will actually read them. Entire armies were once moved by the power of a few written words. If hers can squeeze out a quizzical tilt of the head, that would be enough. Fold chases fold down her dry, loose skin like the dulled creases of a schoolhouse conversation. So many words, and no time at all to say them.