“She looked for the deposition transcript she had dropped, she turned around and——the entire audience in the galley cried out in shock.Unbeknownst to Payton, when she had fallen her skirt—those damn slim-fit skirts she liked so much—had torn at the seam and now gaped open, and sweet Jesus, she was wearing a thong and two tiny white butt cheeks peeked out from between the folds of her skirt—J.D.’s jaw nearly hit the floor.”

“Quickly, she pulls out a photograph from the same drawer. Two girls; one English, one Japanese. Their hair is in plaits, knees in the same position, peeking out under school skirts. There is no gap between their bodies. They look entirely different. Chinatsu is delicate, so flawless that she seems like a drawing, whereas Fleur is scrawny and ablaze with freckles. And yet, they look like sisters; the same posture, the same sadness in their eyes. She remembers that day. It was the worst and best of her life.”

“Brendon’s big hands slid under her skirt and took hold of the plain white cotton panties she had to dig through her entire suitcase to find.”

“There is death in the folds of her skirt and blood about her feet. She is for no man.”

“She stands, her skirt taking a moment to fall down her leg, and I follow her, because right now she's my white rabbit...”

“between the disfigurement and the muzzle, it's nearly impossible to catch what she's saying. Always, though, while tripping and stumbling to the music, she looks out into her audience and tells the story about her mother. Most people laugh and yell for her to lift her skirts, but every so often she'll spot someone weeping and swear they can understand her every word.”