Me and my dad, we’re both caught up in circumstances neither of us understand—something about wrong place, wrong time comes to mind. My father has lived here for twenty years, and I realize I’ve never seen him be friendly with his neighbors or his customers or other shop owners on Seventh, except the Wellses, and he doesn’t invite them to hang out at his house or anything. Maybe he wouldn’t be so surprised to find people think of him as an outsider. I don’t know how he feels. It never occurred to me to ask. Lena’s right—I haven’t tried to understand this place at all.
