he had spent six years wishing someone would ask him.

“What do you remember about a rainy night in an alley in Brooklyn?”

She sat down on the edge of her bed as if her legs had made the decision without her. Her voice, when it came, arrived in pieces.

“There was a man. He was — he was against the wall. There was so much blood. I thought he was already dead when I ran into him. He was not. He looked up at me.”

She stopped.

“And his eyes