Sindh is locking down. Sarah is a writer, alone in one room, and her phone just lit up.
A note to self, one nephew, the news. Pick her thought for the day.
8am to 8pm. Empty hours go to the TV. The TV is the villain.
Energy, Calm, Spirit. Pasta feeds one. The roof is free.
Miserable today, brilliant tomorrow. Ice cream is the reverse.
Or she texts you at 7am like a wrung-out sock.
Get her out with something left. And one ticket she doesn’t know about yet.
A game by Saba Khalid · with a ten-year-old creative consultant who asked her not to tell anyone