Under the Kumquat Tree.
The nice lady clerk at the AT&T store, who’s name escapes me, did not really hand me a fortune cookie. She handed me a crumpled up sheet of spiral-bound notebook paper. The tabs from the frayed end of the page fell to the carpet like cherry blossom petals in an Edo springtime. This was Mrs. Peel’s message to me. I put it in my pocket.
Mrs. King was…