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Page 1
Page 1. A wide establishing panel of the Tiny Case Agency clubroom — a low wooden desk, a stack of cardboard boxes, a battered corkboard, a small white mini-fridge, a folding metal chair and a square window with warm afternoon light. Momo stands beside the desk in her too-big mustard-yellow trench coat, holding up the frayed end of her dusty-red knit scarf in both tiny sleeve-swallowed hands and staring at it in dismay; the scarf is noticeably shorter and a single strand of red yarn dangles from it down to the floorboards. Ganta sits on the boxes with his pale-blue juice box. Biscuit is curled asleep in an open cardboard box. MOMO: 'My scarf. It is shorter.'