"What is That?"

Nora is talking up a phonetical storm. It's fast. It's edgy - like a Wu Tan Clan lyric. Composition  occurs in an instant, like a woodcutter felling a huge tree, or a swordsman leaping at his enemy. Pronunciation is so sharp it's  like cutting a ripe watermelon with a sharp knife or like taking a large bite at a pear. Little complete sentences flow, lyrically sharp, rolling like liquid metal – mercury, y'know?  100-times a day she asks, "What is that?"