I stare at the faces for a long time, and when I’m sick of them I shut my eyes tight and let my imagination take over. I think of so many faces—Emery and Susan Chang and Francis from the tattoo parlor and Akane and Mom—and then I let everything blur together until I’m daydreaming about beautiful quirky strangers I’ve never met before. They have freckles and tans, light hair and dark, crooked features and curves, and they are all exactly as they are meant to be. I open my eyes, find a blank page, and leave the cookie cutters behind.
