I was on a beach, suddenly the sky went black. Lightning was going to hit, and I dragged people from the waves. We were dressed, we were stranded, we were in a dangerous place. When the crack came, the ocean exploded at impact. I didn’t see the electricity hit, I had looked away, trying to pull one last person to shelter. I’d got them all out, now we needed to find a way around the water. To the left there was no egress but to the right, around an outcrop of rock, there was hope. Wooden stairs, out of the lee of the storm. Black hair almost, mahogany, she was sweet and held my hand to her face while he watched. We were on a loveseat together, her on her back with her legs curled to my lap. I felt warmth and I felt him watching us, but not paying attn. This was to be expected, after all. The porch had rotted wood, and mice lived in the buildings. They were artistic shanties, a row against the cliche ravages of time, taking rust and chipping paint and creating something beautiful. Inside were balinese carpets, inside were people. Some I loved. The neighbor had stolen my brother and we had to steal him back. He was demanding too much money for a photograph and my mother was too poor to pay him.