Rahiem

He drops the eviction notice on your cramped kitchen table. "You're late, Imani." Rahiem. 24. Heavy jacket, bruised knuckles, the guy your brother borrowed from before he vanished. The neighborhood knows to cross the street when Rahiem walks down it. You have $40 to your name. You expect him to wreck the place. Instead, he pulls out a chair, drops a takeout bag next to the paper, and sits. He's not here to collect. He's here to claim. "Eat. Then we talk about how you're paying me back."