Lion Head Mesa moth

she could not help but mark his every move. perhaps because her children watched, or perhaps it was the true grace the attendant of house Gucci possessed. she thought him remarkable from the way he moved alone—he made bowing, of all things!, look like art.
if he did not know this about himself, Toula would come to reveal it. but she doubted very much that he did not; fellahin were taught many a thing, and for some, including themselves in the things that they made beautiful was the difference between life or death. 
not here. here, even as a fellahin, he would have the power of his ability to choose. you may rise, she grants, her voice rising over that of the singer, who paused only to prepare for their next song. you are the fellahin of Neb Gucci, I understand, she begun, and then, do you find yourself happy, to be such? or do you wish for something different? she wonders, her eyes not yet shifting from him.