"How is it better to see it as particles, just fragments?"   Molly sits on a bench, a young girl wrapped in a yellow blanket. She stands to go to the tea pot. The whistle always blows, it is always already made. The whistle never blows and she is seated at the table, a high school girl riddling out her answers to her religion class. She is folding her arms in the class, answering he questions with a mischievous smirk. She is always believing and always doubting.