The woman on the sofa belonged there. She didn't need the magazines; she had impeccable taste and a natural flair for decorative design. Her body unwound itself over the cushions. Though she couldn't see them, she knew she wore doeskin flat-heeled pumps that matched the glass cabernet of her sweater.

Behind her a gaggle of schoolgirls laughed, all talking at once, all walking as one as a centipede. She watched them in the reflected world of her living room. When they passed she moved on.