I stayed in the house. It was safe. I had my stove.
I put seasoned logs in it, brush and twigs.I cultivated my brand of happiness.
My life was senseless. The violence of it was unbearable.

I’m your evaluator worker, said the black woman. She had large sad James Baldwin eyes. Do you have weapons in your home?

I don’t have weapons, I said.

Good, the evaluator said.

I hate them, I said. I have never used a gun or held one.

That is terrific, said the evaluator worker.

I don’t know if it is terrific, I said.

A weapon can be a useful tool, said the evaluator worker. Were you ever a member of the Social party?

I’m not social I keep to myself, I said. I’m a loner.

Excuse me I meant the Socialist party, said the evaluator worker.

Yes I am a Socialist, I said.

That’s a shame, said the social worker.

I don’t have a competitive bone in my body, I said.

There’s no future in Socialism, said the evaluator worker. It could explain your depression.

I’m not depressed. I said.

Do you think someone is trying to hurt you, the evaluator said.