Chapter 15 · free to read
Sixty tenants rehoused. One building nobody wanted. The city had given me a page.
Nineteen years reading his handwriting. It had never once occurred to me to learn to write.
Not brother. Not the word he wrote for me. His name — struck off the roll in 1987 so the city would owe nothing to a firefighter who was never officially inside.
The sixth letter was burning the footprint of Harrow Street itself. That building came down in ninety-one. The fire was tracing walls that were not there.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.