Two blocks away from the 5-mile-long Industrial Canal that links Lake Pontchartrain to the Mississippi River, a cluster of new, candy-colored homes—lemon yellow, tangerine, berry blue—on 8-foot stilts rises up from narrow grassy lots, adorning the scarred landscape like jewels in ash.

The recursive nature of stories which borrow from each other

[…] I noticed that Mom could barely hold a fork, write, walk, get up, sit down. She was verklemmt. Vermischt. More Yiddish words that mean what they sound like.

It was clear that the Queen, if she indeed proved to be the target, would be outpointed for grooming and hauteur.