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“It’s a bit run down through here,” David tells me, a little embarrassed. “Then you should take care of that,” I say, unwilling to hear any excuses about why everyone in the pack doesn’t have the same standard of living. He already knew how I feel about that and it probably played into his reluctance to join me tonight. He looks at me, his eyes blinking a few times. “That’s a conversation for later.” We come upon a little white house with a black roof and shutters, a dirty old white fence around the small yard. Clearly, it’s very old, but it also looks very loved. The front door swings open quickly and two small boys come running out, the first clearly being chased. Their laughter is contagious, but it quickly stops when their eyes land on David. “Nana Rita,” one of them calls bac