Claudia Wair
Sophia’s shift at the casino ended just before sunset. She showered and changed out of her uniform in the staff locker room and pulled her locs up into a high ponytail. Normally she’d put on a little makeup, but these days, her light brown skin presented a perpetual glow; no need for cosmetics.
She walked back to her tiny apartment on Morris. Her Atlantic City street was too unimpressive to be on the Monopoly board, and too far away from the Bay side for her to see the sun dip below the horizon. But she knew it had.
Three blocks. Two blocks. One. Sophia put the key in the lock of her apartment and paused, hopeful, before opening the door. She stepped in and looked at the floor. His boots were there, covered with rime and dried seaweed. Wayward grains of sand dotted the lino
