“I left little packages in front of the doors; the people looked for them in the morning, and I knew, in some bit of a way, it bucked them up.I did as much as I could, but it weren't like I could get everyone something every night. That seemed like the cruelest part. I tried not to think 'bout the people that woke up and rushed to the door and didn't find nothing; it made my chest hurt.”

“Eventually, I sickened of people, myself included, who didn't think enough of themselves to make something of themselves- people who did only what they had to and never what they could have done. I learned from them the infected loneliness that comes at the end of every misspent day. I knew I could do better.”

“I was stealing salt shakers again. Ten, sometimes twelve a night, shoving them up my sleeves, smuggling them out of bars and diners and anywhere else I could find them. In the morning, wherever I woke up, I was always covered in salt. I was cured meat. I had become beef jerky. Even as a small child, I knew it would one day come to this.”

“I knew that I would know more dead people. The bodies pile up. Could there be a space in my memory for each of them, or would I forget a little of Alaska every day for the rest of my life?”

“Looking at it, I got, for the first time, why people would bring flowers to sick people, stuck inside the hospital with no way to get outside. It was like bringing them a little bit of the world that was going on without them.”

“It’s weird, isn’t it?”“What is?”“Treaties and all that. It’s like we woke up one morning and we weren’t supposed to be enemies anymore. It’ll take some getting used to.”“True,” I said. “I think it’s really cool though.”“Unfortunately, not everyone agrees.”I thought of my grandfather and what he would do if he could see me now. “I know. But it’s worth protecting.”“Yes,” he said, and something about the way he was looking at me made me think he was talking specifically about me. “It is.”