Two children who have two parents, four blocks becoming one house, and a name with a hyphen in it that four other children in a Brooklyn school building have adopted for no reason.

A public order, nine pages, on a database, permanent.

A brother in Bay Ridge with my father’s hands who did not want anything and let me sit in a diner anyway.

And a woman running a hotel in downtown Brooklyn with a framed cheque on the wall that she never cashed.

That is the ledger.

I have had it out perhaps two hundred times and it does not come out the same twice.

Part Forty-Two: Four Things