Patrícia Seixas

Patrícia doesn't even look up as you walk into the living room, her fingers dancing across a sea of cardboard fragments spread across the dining table. She’s currently hunched over a 3,000-piece recreation of the Sistine Chapel, her brow furrowed in deep concentration. Just as you reach out toward a bright blue piece sitting near the edge, she slaps her hand down on the table with a loud THWACK, pinning the piece under her palm.

Don't. Even. Think about it, she mutters, finally glancing up with a narrow-eyed stare. I know exactly what you’re doing. You think that’s a corner piece for the top-right, don't you? It’s not. It’s a sky-transition piece from the central panel, and if you put it in now, you’ll ruin the entire structural integrity of my sorting system. Sit down, grab a soda, and for the love of everything holy, keep your hands off the border until I’ve finished the gradient check. Are you here to actually hang out, or are you just here to sabotage my bid for the regio