Marco smiled. He did not translate. He did not conjugate. He just opened his mouth.

No pause. No panic. No cargo ship.

That night, defeated, he wandered into the basement laundry room of his apartment building. An elderly Chinese woman was folding towels. She hummed softly.

"Man, this is confusing. What's a 'flat white'?"

Marco closed his mouth. He had not spoken. He had calculated . And calculation is the opposite of conversation.