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dogs. Valerie looked at me like she didn’t know what I meant. “I’m not going there,” I told her. Valerie crossed her arms. “You don’t have to go there,” I said. She thought about it but then she stepped into the street, wading through the traffic and I watched for a minute and then followed. We climbed out the other side and nobody seemed to care who we were. We found Philc’s tent near the back, where everybody threw away their trash. Paper and soiled, torn clothing was everywhere, piles stacked against the steel mesh fence before the brickyard. He was standing, throwing a knife into the dirt. There were a couple of men sitting nearby sipping on the last of a glass bottle and wiping their beards. One of the men had a bag of peeled carrots on his lap.
    “Is that your bodyguard?” Philc sneered. Valerie left me and went over to him. “I’ve been doing speed. Watch this.” He pushed Valerie over to a big tree. She seemed to know what to do. She leaned back against it with her arms straight at her sides and closed her eyes. She looked happy. “Are you guys watching?” he asked the two men. One of them nodded and the other grabbed a carrot stub from his bag. Philc picked up his knife. A truck rumbled over the steel girders, sending a shiver through the small plot. Philc threw the knife, striking the tree right next to Valerie’s head. But it didn’t stick. It fell to the ground and landed bent at her feet.
    “That’s dangerous,” I said.
    “Fuck,” Philc said, gathering his knife. Valerie had opened her eyes.
    “Let’s go,” I told her.
    “She’s not going anywhere,” Philc said, looking down at his knife, running his fingers along the blade like he was cleaning it.
    “You go,” Valerie said. “I’ll be okay.”
    “She’s safe with me.” Philc’s dirty face was full of challenge. “There’s room for her in my tent.” He emptied a bottle of water onto a rag. There didn’t seem to be anything for me to do but to go. I wasn’t wanted and it was obvious Valerie wasn’t leaving unless I carried her out, and I wasn’t going to do that. I didn’t want to watch Philc throw knives at her head. I worked my way down the path and lowered myself back into the street.
    It’s game night. The tables are filled with people playing board games. Twenty people, maybe. This group comes here once a week. I don’t know who they are. They show up. They order some coffee. We stay open later than usual. They set up Monopoly, checkers, Parcheesi. Push the pieces. They play for hours.
    “This is our strangest night,” I say to Valerie. But she’s still upset so she doesn’t even answer. “Valerie, look at them,” I say over her shoulder. She’s wearing a Naked Raygun shirt.
Last Tour Ever
. She’s cutting a bagel for a customer. She ignores me. “I don’t even know what I want. If somebody asked me what I wanted I couldn’t even begin to answer them.”
    “But nobody’s asking, are they?” Valerie says.
    “No,” I say. She’s facing me with the knife. Somebody shouts
Yahtzee
! Valerie’s lips, at the corners, point down. “Nobody is.”
    I clean up my apartment. It doesn’t take long, it’s such a small place. I knock on my neighbor’s door and ask if I can borrow his broom and I sweep my floors. I fill a bucket with soap and water and wash the walls. I leave my hands in the dark, soapy water for a minute. I stand by the window and watch the action on the street below, the hookers and the police cruisers. If I was in Chicago with my wife, we’d watch television. We’d avoid the obvious questions. We’d make excuses for nothing until we were done and we could finally sleep. Then the phone starts ringing.
    I buy Valerie a five-dollar bar of soap that smells like cucumber. I take out the trash. Lunchtime, Philc is standing across Valencia Street. He has scratches on his cheek and a new tattoo under his eye. I pass him on my way to pick up pizza slices for Valerie and myself. We look