“This can't be real,” I muttered as I stared at a cat-woman chatting on her cell phone across the street. No, not the Halle Berry Catwoman. That wouldn't have been weird, not in SFO. This fine lady was dressed in a cardigan and jeans like a normal Jane, but she had the head of a calico cat and a matching tail waving behind her.
Dirt was a curious thing. It reclaimed the dead to cultivate new life. It buried dark secrets that later uprooted long-held truths. It entombed the mundane and turned it into a shrine that the living come to treasure.
It also had a nasty habit of leaving permanent stains on expensive linen.