Page 5 of Micah

Alex's phone just connected to the bunkhouse Wi-Fi—yes I get alerts on that as well.

Angie and Diego have settled in for their usual after dinner cup of coffee.

And this right here?

This is my day to day.

Routine.

Order.

Predictability.

I should be satisfied.

But I’m not.

Something’s been nagging me lately.

A kind of restlessness I can't just code away.

I know exactly what’s bugging me.

Or rather...

Who.

Prologue 2-Sloane

People hear Newark and they get this look on their faces.

Like they already know me.

Like they know where I came from means they know who I am.

They picture crime.

Noise.

Concrete.

They don't picture little girls who share bedrooms with their brothers because there's only one bedroom to share.

They don't picture parents working two jobs a piece just to keep the lights on.

They don't picture kids learning the difference between needs and wants before they're old enough to ride a bike.

I do.

Because that's where I come from.

We weren't poor enough to be on the streets.

But we were one missed paycheck away from it more times than I care to remember.

Mom always managed to stretch a dollar farther than seemed humanly possible.

Dad could fix just about anything with duct tape, baling wire, and stubbornness.