And then, as is the way of all coincidences, the cyber trail led to a fragmented image of a dusky hussy, tendrils of brown hair cascading from a rust and blue headscarf, dark eyes staring from her youth flushed face, following the writer’s every rapid eye movement. The mouth was missing. So was the kithara, as she imagined; it was a komuz, actually, but how was she to know that? 

This was too good to pass up. After all, writing is a bit like archeology, you have to dig deep to uncover the good stuff. Here lay the Gypsy Girl Mosaic, uncovered ten years previously at the very same site of the muses at Zeugma. Hidden, in plain sight, for two thousand years, give or take. The Euphrates was to be flooded, you see, and all this antiquity was going to be re-drowned. A few tesserae fell into place. That’s it. That’s me. It’s all coming back to me now.