When Darcy got home it was dark, but still hot. The smell of rain was heavy as a lid on the air. A street show was going on outside her building. The players came to the Avenida on nights and weekends hoping for spare change, and they usually did one of three routines — girls getting their clothes accidentally torn off, a trained monkey in a business suit dancing around with a briefcase, or a group of men acting out life on the mainland and the origin of the island. This was the mainland show — the Mainland family were huddled together on the sidewalk, shivering. The North Wind was blowing all around them and scattering Seafiber snowflakes.
"What will we do?" asked Mrs. Mainland, a big man whose chest hair peeked out the neckline of his dress. "Our crops are dead and we're running out of cats to eat!"
Sarah wasn't back yet. Darcy let herself in and started getting dinner ready. She set the steak, still in its bloody napkins, on a stack of old romance flyers in the cool spot under the window. She plugged in the hot plate, then opened a can of chopped onion. In the mini fridge she found half a can of peas, not yet foul smelling. The pan was dirty. She took it to the bathroom to wash it in the sink. Augusta Beltran was there before her, mixing water with her baby's powdered formula. The baby himself was strapped to Augusta's chest — he looked at Darcy with his tiny alien eyes and began to wail.
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