Lianna's birthday was on July 6. I had been away all June on meetings and business trips. No spare time for her. At the end of the month, the gift problem started to obsess me. What did I give her already ? Memory failed me. I was in a hotel room, several oceans away, and I had to fly back the following day. It was late. Strangers were not supposed to go out. I did that anyway. The stifling heat, right after the air-conditioning of the room, tried to kill me. I refused to be escorted by a pair of walking, sparkling brass knuckles, courtesy of the management. I would not choose a gift for Lianna with a goombah waiting on me. I found my way again to the little shop, near the restaurant where the delegation had been entertained with Bhiju dancers two nights ago. The shop was still open, and a man sat in the door frame, sweat oozing from all his tattoos. In the window, nimble arms danced a lethal saraband for the moths attracted by the electric arcs. Tiny fingers caught them by their wings, and brought their writhing bodies to impatient mouths. The creatures suddenly noticed me, and stopped dancing. They straightened themselves, and clutched the bars of the cage with their tails and fingers, a smile on their minuscule faces. They liked me. They would like her. Lianna would