i read mina's matchbox with olive palestine dreaming. a little girl cries upstairs. there were helicopters and sirens last night but the coyotes were seemingly silent. i stopped reading children of the ghetto, star of the sea. i went 2/3rds of the way and i feel a little guilty but i trust that i got enough and i wanted something else, like mina's matchbox. i think i will never understand how never again becomes always.