The door to Ulysses’s workshop was ajar and inside, the walls were blackened. Globes, once the prize of the upper shelves, had been sucked into the eddy; old map books that he’d collected since arriving in the city; Des’s molds; tools; his father’s plates— Outside, a woman wailing, I’ve lost everything. I’ve lost everything. Ulysses felt dizzy. The place stank. The woman’s voice rising with panic.
