A Storyby Jim Weber
Samuel caressed the slip of paper bearing the address as he followed a chain-link fence toward the gate. It was morning on the second day after he had moved twenty-odd miles from East Harlem to Bayonne. Not far, compared to Luanda to Faro, or Faro to New York—journeys he had taken in the past eighteen months. Not far, for a job that paid more in two weeks than he had earned in a month at his two East Harlem jobs.