“Whose name’s going on the awning?”
She looked confused.
“I — yours?”
“No,” I said.
“Mine’s already up there.
I’m asking what you want on yours.
Someday.
Because I’m going to write you a lease, and you’re going to read it, and you’re going to know from day one whose room you’re standing in.”
She thought about it.
“I don’t have a name for it yet.”
“Good,” I said.
“That means you’ll pick it yourself.
