Jian couldn’t speak without stuttering, so no one respected him, not even his own father. This was hard for him, but he knew he was OK, because for any song he heard, he could sing along smoothly. He rode a bicycle to deliver noodles. For this, he didn’t need to say anything. He learned the city and grew strong. He could mark a slate with the price; he could nod and kowtow, no problem. No one had to know he stuttered.