[ as a child, daisy had wondered who she was. where she came from, what kind of family she might have had, what her mother or her father might have looked like or how they lived or what they filled their time with. as an orphan without any history or even a birth certificate to prove her name, there was no public record to look into, no social media to stalk — all she had was the imprint of a flower on a gold chain and a generic last name given to her upon arrival to saint agnes.
but some things were obvious. the shape of her eyes, the color of her skin, the way she saw herself reflected in the girls who wandered the streets of chinatown — always almost, never quite. when she was younger, still debating the merits of public school educations, daisy had picked up odd jobs on those streets. dog walking, courier services, trash delivery: anything she could do under the table for cash, anonymous and simple.
one of those jobs had found her on the steps of nom wah, an old-fashioned tea parlor deep in the heart of chinatown, and after a few weeks of lingering in the kitchen, they'd invited her to a booth in the back, a place where she could slowly but surely learn the foods of a world she might have belonged in. it's to nom wah she goes almost every saturday, sitting in the same corner booth for hours, her laptop and notes splayed out on the oversized table — and though she doesn't order much, she never leaves hungry.
and it's to nom wah she'll take him, if he'll go. ]
11th and 21st 11:00 am
[ it'd be too obvious to meet him at the lobby of her apartment building, too many eyes around. better to meet him at the nearby subway station, where they can ride the line outside the immediate area of the school in relative anonymity. ]
no subject
but some things were obvious. the shape of her eyes, the color of her skin, the way she saw herself reflected in the girls who wandered the streets of chinatown — always almost, never quite. when she was younger, still debating the merits of public school educations, daisy had picked up odd jobs on those streets. dog walking, courier services, trash delivery: anything she could do under the table for cash, anonymous and simple.
one of those jobs had found her on the steps of nom wah, an old-fashioned tea parlor deep in the heart of chinatown, and after a few weeks of lingering in the kitchen, they'd invited her to a booth in the back, a place where she could slowly but surely learn the foods of a world she might have belonged in. it's to nom wah she goes almost every saturday, sitting in the same corner booth for hours, her laptop and notes splayed out on the oversized table — and though she doesn't order much, she never leaves hungry.
and it's to nom wah she'll take him, if he'll go. ]
11th and 21st
11:00 am
[ it'd be too obvious to meet him at the lobby of her apartment building, too many eyes around. better to meet him at the nearby subway station, where they can ride the line outside the immediate area of the school in relative anonymity. ]