"It's good to love your work." It's a platitude, but Saturday means it. "Hell of a logistics job, I'd imagine."

They had celebrated Easter at the Center, or at any rate hunted for eggs; Red Town was a mishmash of cultures, and everyone likes a spring festival. But she knew where all those eggs came from. They'd dye them every year, her and Pops and Maggie and Mama Sofia. Solomon, too; she could remember him now, and not just around him. Skewers of dango and sweet dumplings and the smell of vinegar dye.

God, she wants to go home.

" - Oh, I do odd jobs," she says automatically, hearing his question. "Whatever happens to turn up. That sort of thing."