It was a place where no one knew the lexicon of what had been a common charity—an embrace, a slight nod on passing, a recognition of mutual flesh and blood.
These were the trades and barters of this new arena: a bullet for a toddler’s skull at play, the snarling crouch of feral creatures who ripped away their façade as sentinels once the doors were locked, and above, clouds like a fist in the firmament, bashing shock-blows upon the impenitent earth.
And the one impartiality that held true was this: that any dream of any measure should have its own one-line obit, unsealed, unread.