I take the back routes to Alex. The small printing business on the corner has an open car gate and I slip in. The sun warms my skin as I make my way around the building to a gap in the fence leading to the paint factory. Two workers are warming themselves at a fire on the hard ground next to the building. “Sanibonani,” I greet them in Zulu. These men are familiar. I often take this short cut from the church.

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