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My sister texted just now. The address of a seamstress on the outskirts of the subway system. I have an appointment in the morning, or so I’m told, to have my bridesmaid’s dress altered.

I wish could just take the dress to Min. She does all my alterations. She knows my body as well as she knows her own–better, I fear, than that of her daughter. Min creates the more unusual custom items in my wardrobe. I trust her implicitly.