Coventry

Every night, for the past few years or so, Anne and Charlotte Coventry celebrated their day’s work with three half-pints of amber ale, mounted with peanuts and, occasionally, a bag of chips. They came from places where they could find hand weaving work: lately, and with increasing scarcity, historical villages. The bar served as respite to relax and use the toilet before their second shift as muses, which took until the AM, after which they filled up on coffee, lately at a local Dunkin’. On this night, between glasses two and three, Charlotte asked Anne a question.

“Should we quit?”

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