He's moving calm and starting nothing, but he can feel the bad things people are wishing on him from every side. The calm is a struggle to hold. Already death is in his mouth — he hopes he's got brothers who outlive him, and he doesn't want to be missed only after he's gone.

God's plan, he says, like that settles it. He holds back, and sometimes he won't. The reply to all that hate isn't aimed back at anyone — it's making sure the north-side eats and that he goes down for something different. And still.

When she asks if he loves her, he only loves her partly. His bed and his mama come first, and he's sorry. Then he names the rest of the people holding him up — Fif tatted on his skin, 40 and Oli, the broskies he can't imagine never meeting. He can't do this on his own, and he doesn't pretend he could.