I don’t know enough about juvenile metabolisms to understand how it is that Kina can come home after a full day in the sun, with a dew point of like 212 degrees, and still jump around the house like she’s had four espressos. It is as if she sweats rubbing alcohol and feeds off the wilting adult souls pooled at her feet. She doesn’t even recognize how good she has it—youth wasted on the young, et cetera.

dad