Kombucha-clocks

Darjeeling's mind-blowing Himalayan views and thick turgid smog were left behind on a 18 hour bus-ride along craggy mountain edges over potholes and around landslides. Firecrackers were fired in the night, soldier occasionally stopped the bus and rummaged through the in-cabin luggage. When the veil of night lifted the occasional view of three-hut Nepali villages on the Ganges appeared from the mountain slopes. It seemed like forever. With comically musical beeps from the horn, our bus wound precariously around colorful cargo trucks. Twice we saw these circus-esque semi's overturned. Eventually the mountains parted, splitting away to reveal an

Chapter 1 The morning is tepid. No refreshing dew lingers from the night. Bag of paint over one shoulder, I'm on my way to the art school and not excited about another day of monotone self-righteousness. Hooray for peer critique day. March air this warm should be welcomed. Instead it is just uncomfortable. The space between the school and the bus stop is uncommonly empty. The lonely concrete stretches ahead with my destination a sprawling blue campus on the horizon. Even dressed plainly with my pink scarf, my brown coat, I feel singled out on the sidewalk. Bastion City isn't usually busy this early in the morning, but nor is it ever this qu