Somewhere in the USA, Late September 2017 That losing the show wouldn’t be the worst thing, that there would be financial ruin, bullshit stories, public vilification, name-calling, getting spat at (because yes people do that), private conversations with jerks in dark moments telling him good on you for speaking up — that things would not
David watches the garden boy from his bedroom window. He peers through the bougainvillea, branches pruned to near nakedness, his breath forming asymmetrical shapes on the glass. The boy bends his body towards the earth, churns dark soils with the blunt edge of his spade. Clumps appear in the ground surrounding the rose bushes. Ripples
