“Yes. After school, I’m go next door. Two men live next door. Old men. Funny. They listen to the radio and yell. Not angry yell, just—loud. Happy. They take good care for me and always have food for me and little things for play—toys…” He says a word in Russian, shrugs, and moves on. “They help with school. Help buy hockey gear. Good men. People say they’re…family, but not brothers?” “Cousins?” “Yes, cousins. But they’re not cousins. I’m see, sometimes, they hold hands in the house, on the couch—where no window. Touch hip. Touch neck. Soft. Like normal thing. Sleep in the same room. I’m not
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