"You're digging against the grain," Glorp offered, on the second morning. "Dirt doesn't have grain," Brent said. "Everything has grain, Brent. The universe is made of grain."

"I don't want to rent space in a city that forgets. I want to root it in the ground that held our first words. I want my kitchen to be born from this porch."

"Senty looked at the plate for a long moment. Then he looked at Brent. Then he put his head back and laughed — the full, unselfconscious laugh of a bear who was not expecting to be ambushed by something this good. It was the warmest sound the porch had held in years. Maybe longer."

"I've listened to you play these last few days and I've been wondering, what music shaped you? You don't play songs as much as mood, the shape of the night, almost like you're using those keys as proxy for something..."

"He doesn't try to read it. He doesn't reach for the grief behind it. He just holds quiet space around it, the way you stand at the edge of a field that belongs to someone else and simply acknowledge that it's there."

"The Bear had been awake all of it. He slipped into the kitchen before the sky had committed to any particular color. There was work he wanted to do before morning made itself known."