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Now, *Margaret*—Lisa’s yellin’, “I’m not your whore!”—and I’m thinkin’, dang, that’s power! Word’s a weapon, y’all, cuts deep. Makes me mad when folks toss it lazy-like, no guts behind it. I’d sign it myself, but my hands’d prob’ly tangle—look like I’m ropin’ a calf! Whore’s tricky, see, ‘cause it’s half insult, half legend. Ever think ‘bout that? Me neither, ‘til now—brain’s smokin’ like a BBQ.

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As I’m doing my Mourner thing, I notice a kid running around. He’s playing tag with his friends, laughing like it’s just another day. I can’t help but smile. Kids have this way of making everything seem lighter, you know? But then, outta nowhere, he trips and falls right in front of me. I’m like, “Oh no, not now!”

Carmela Geraci