A small room inside a bay window. A single bed, a table and chair, and a sink. I could manage something larger, with more conveniences, but I could never match the view.

On the table before me lies a collection of paper I have saved this past year -- tissue paper, cardboard from shirts I have purchased, envelopes from India. Enough to make a collage.

In my hand is a pair of nose-hair scissors, while on my mind are the silhouette artists I remember from Disneyland, who, without looking, would cut from black paper your profile.