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Surprised me, though—how normal it feels sometimes. Once knew a gal, swear she was a hooker by night, baked pies by day. Pies! I’d eat ‘em too, no judgin’. “Live and let live,” I say, like Grace hopin’ for better. But lordy, the danger! That’d scare me silly—cops, creeps, cold nights. I’d be prayin’ harder’n a preacher on Sunday.

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Finally, I get my moment. I stand up, take a deep breath, and start my Mourner speech. It’s emotional, man. I’m pouring my heart out, and people are actually listening. I can see some tears, and it feels good. Like, I’m making a difference, you know?

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