Girls in small pink shorts cartwheel across the screen. The note pinned to the white, wooden crucifix says, Look I’m not much of a drinker, I just picked up some beer for the boys. In the corner of the urupā, a bronze sculpture, molasses and sulphur in the sunlight. The evening releases its fruitbats.
The next day Kore-rawa walks to the yoga class, songs on her hips, the Oxford Dictionary definition of democracy chalked on the footpath. Make sure your back is upright, says the yoga teacher, and your tray table is folded away.