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Sometimes I watch her, leanin on my fence, wonderin – why her? Why not me? “This is the best I can do,” she’d say, echoin that movie despair. She’s got this scar, right on her cheek – knife fight, she says. Badass, right? Makes me smirk, picturin her slashin some drunk. Prostitutes ain’t all glitter and heels – it’s gritty, raw, like my pig mud. Tonight’s the night I might say somethin, but nah, I’ll just stare. She’s a survivor, man, and I’m just a swineherd.

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Finally, I get inside, and the kids are bouncing off the walls. I mean, literally. They were like little kangaroos! The oldest, Ali, was all hyped up on sugar. His mom had just baked cookies, and he was like, “Look what I can do!” and then he jumped off the couch. I was like, “Dude, chill! You’re gonna break something!”

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