Books that hadn’t made it onto the over-burdened bookshelves were stacked around the room. Some lay open on the couch. Mary shoved them aside so she could sit down. Tim headed straight for the kitchen. “What’s this?” she asked as she flipped through some loose pages lying on the coffee table. “A thousand pages locked away. The butterfly escapes its cocoon. Who writes this shit? What does it even mean?” Tim took a deep breath and reached for the fridge. He needed a beer. The door was sealed tight and initially refused to give so he tried again with a bit more determination. His efforts dislodged a punnet of blueberries…