“I never thought talking to someone would be so cathartic,” Marisol said.
Cyrus waited with her on the corner as the police investigated the scene at the bistro. Officers and firefighters streamed in and out of the building, stepping delicately over broken glass. Remnants of burnt food lingered in the air. The fire was mostly extinguished now, with only a few hotspots blazing in the kitchen.
Most of the crowd had dispersed, but the news van remained on the corner, with a black female field reporter speaking in front of a camera and lights.
“I can’t wait to see the report,” Marisol said. “Maybe we’ll be famous.”
“Hopefully not,” Cyrus said, rubbing the back of his head.
He didn’t give a statement to the media, but he had stood listening nearby as Marisol spoke to a field reporter. The
