42 - Kathleen
When I turned the Chevy on Mimosa Street, I slammed the brakes to avoid hitting a pedestrian jaywalking. The normally quiet neighborhood had morphed into a circus. In the short time it had taken Stan to anchor his boat and drive to my home, then for us to drive there, the crowd of protesters had grown in a number incompatible with the actual population of Safe Harbor.
There were more than twenty young well-shaved men clad in pristine chivalrous white, half of them holding cardboard signs with red letters printed along with dark, grainy photographs.
It was worse than I had thought.
A line of cars had haphazardly parked, with minivans and even a yellow half-school bus marked with the letters in orange flames Church of True Fire. I found a free spot at the far end of the str
