Fragment from "Squabbles" The corridors were filled with the stifling heat of summer; the air reeked of old age, urine, and bleach. Darkness thickened in the space, the walls seemed to press in, and only a single lamp flickered cheerfully, crackling slightly. With lifeless eyes, an old woman wandered through the night hospital in a long nightgown. Her hair was tangled like thistles, her arms hung heavily at her sides, tightly clutching scraps of paper. She walked as if she had no legs, her steps light and unhurried. A quiet calm emanated from her, yet behind her stretched a dense fog of sorrow. A little further down the corridor, she sat on a creaking chair and began to rock back and forth, softly humming an unfamiliar melody.