I Have to Go (III.)

I never wanted to stay because of the little black kid in the diaper. I would get in, toss my money on the desk in a hurried way and tell Rhiel what I was after. She reliably took her time sorting my bag because she was always watching internet videos of angry poor people tearing each other up in the streets, her husband or whatever leaning over her shoulder cheering at the screen with his mouth full. Even if it was two in the morning the kid would eventually wander out of the dark and bump into my shins and crane his neck at me, rubbing his eyes, repeating, "Pick me up."