Buppa and I stand on the porch. He holds me, his strong, tanned arms making a seat for me to sit on. A man comes to us. He and Buppa talk quickly, quietly. Buppa shakes his head, no.
The man reaches out, pulls his hand back before touching Buppa. Holds his hands out, palms up. His voice strains.
Buppa tells him to go away, come back later. He shakes his head as the man goes down the steps, out the gate, to his car, drives away.
He takes me inside. “What did he want, Buppa?”
“To cause pain.”
“Will you do what he wants, Buppa?”
“I will do what he asked, not what he wants.”
“You going to hurt someone?”
“Someone will be hurt, yes.”
“You told me not to hurt people, Buppa.”
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