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All you can do is ask. Rivka excuses nothing. Little, anyway. In a dream, red meat turns to white, and I excuse it, not recognizing it for what it is.

Peace, who was once Debbie and now Mokorin, shares how they landed in Pensacola. She and little Aiden in an $800 room in LA. There’s an invite from a friend. Pensacola sounds like nowhere, though not too far from New Orleans where mom and dad still are.

A dream of a red door. A walk with the baby, following voices. A Saturday and here’s the red door, on a church. Inside a woman seer in ritual for the revivalists. She points to Peace. Someone tells Peace stay afterwards, she needs to tell you something. Do you have a remote connection somewhere? You are going to go across the country and meet your husband. Come back tomorrow. The next day, through a slot in the door, someone hands her a greyhound ticket to Pensacola. Paid for. There’s some time with help from a housing shelter.

She gets into the projects where she lives for a while. Shawn moves in and they have more boys. They get a house, which they live in now, owning it.

Harmon, the youngest is twelve now and studying piano here at Brownsville School of Music as it was impulsively named one moment years ago when registering a Google Business. Back before they required proof.

At forty-nine, Cat is about to graduate college, which is happy. Courage to drop out. Courage to reenroll.

9/04/2024