It was in mid-march, one of those days when VOTE ME posters shed themselves to the rain that she, Arima, became life. She grew quickly, twisting, pushing among the wall of intestines, sniffing and sniffing undigested abortion capsules. Once two vomits and a chemist’s discretion had confirmed her disturbing existence, the woman, her Mother, wasted no time dashing from Quack to Quack- bespectacled men who bore titles of Chemist and Doctor with a heavenly magnificence-, requesting abortion pills on credit.