Nadia
The reentry program's offices occupied the ground floor of a converted warehouse on the city's east side, exposed brick and mismatched furniture donated by people who clearly wanted credit more than they wanted the furniture to actually match, and Nadia arrived on her first morning of employment forty minutes early, unable to sleep past five, unused to a schedule that didn't begin with a facility bell.
"You're early," said the man who met her at the door, unlocking it with the particular unhurried patience of someone who had clearly done this before. "Most people's first instinct is to run late, testing whether anyone notices. Good sign that yours wasn't."
"Old habits," Nadia said. "Institutions run on schedules. I suppose I never fully stopped keeping mine."
"Theo Marsh," he sai
