“How’s business?” I asked. She shrugged. We opened her chairs among the countless faces of broken timepieces.
Fifteen women showed up that night.
“Musta called twice this many,” Minnie said when the last had arrived. “But you’re here and that’s something.”
The women were of different ages, mothers and sisters from all across the city.
“I thought first it’s just North Park,” Minnie expounded. We sat in a circle among the jumble. Most looked sleepless and uncomfortable. “But then started walking,” she went on, “taking trains, and it was all around. Posters everywhere, all those faces. ‘How many could it be?’ I thought.” The women kept silent, shifting positions in the dust. “Troopers acting like I said my cat’s missing. Couldn’t do less if they were dead. But this many gone, this man
