Pearl is feeling rather trapped, it's 1918 and she struggles to adapt, with an overbearing mother, immobile father she'd like to smother, it all makes her feel encaged, and somewhat handicapped. A projectionist has opened up her eyes, to a world that's full of wonder and surprise, no longer can she prolong, she needs to snare life with a prong, set the world alight, go out and fight, and learn to dance along. Alas a pearl is often formed from bits of grit, which can irritate and make you curse and spit, bring your demons to the fore, compound monotony of chore, revealing attributes you'd rather not admit.
