The people fleeing downtown had already reached the streets near my apartment by the time I got back. Some of my neighbors stood out on their decks, watching the events transpire. The door to my apartment was hanging open. Would Alan have left it that way?

When I got inside, I found the entire place trashed. It could have been rioters or MS13 members looking for me. I walked through the strewn debris, all the cupboards and drawers in my kitchen open, the contents dumped onto the floor. The refrigerator was ajar, the food spilling out into the kitchen. All my mail had been torn open and left on the floor. The couch cushions were cut open, the stuffing flung around the living room. As I walked past the bedroom, all the boxes of my sketches and paintings were opened up, the papers thrown on...

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