Chapter 3: A Small Thorn

One day, at the warehouse where he worked part-time, an older worker corrected the way he was stacking boxes. There may have been no malice in it. But the words that followed — "well, I suppose it's hard for foreigners" — lodged themselves deeper than he expected.

On the way home that evening, Brian sat on a station bench, unable to move, for longer than he would have thought possible. Under his breath, he repeated the song, quietly, again and again. He thought, for a moment, he could hear his mother's voice from far away.