Home, school, and the compound on 8th Street, where there was food and somewhere to sleep.
His father is unwell. Money is tight. He cleans classrooms to stay in school.
There is music. There are friends. Arguments, laughter, the usual awkwardness of being that age.
Some nights there is shooting nearby. Other nights there isn’t.
At one point, he shares a room with another boy – the same age – who has his own story to tell.
At the time, it doesn’t feel like anything unusual.
Years later, he comes back to these memories and begins to ask what they meant.
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