The woman nodded, pressing her thumb to a tiny screen he wore on one wrist. Was that all she had to do? I knew Jake paid with chits printed out after he’d traded stuff. Well, Rubio often said: all dens are equal, but some are more equal than others.

“That’s a quote,” he’d add, knowing I wouldn’t get it. “More or less.”

Now I got it. The other Empire caught me staring and frowned. I turned away to inspect the greens, gratified to see we grew better in Joe’s roof gardens.

But the Canada thing was bad news. Unca Joe bartered for corn meal, soy, and rice, all from Canada. Add that to the scarcity of flour due to the global plague of wheat rust.

“What about that co-op trying to raise coffee in the Appalachians?”

The vendor shrugged. “Might have some, if they can get it here. Now it’s just what little comes, y’know, round-about from Mexico.”

‘Round-about’ meant the black market. Business as usual at the Souk, though Jake said the distinction between black and legit was blurring fast. You took what you could get, however you could get it. Watching the Ladysmiths haggle and cajole, then fork over more than they ought for too little food, I saw how they stood out. Even the Empire women, who could almost pass for uptowners. Even they were stringier, their eyes more desperate and wary. As if their bodies, never mind their clothes, were stained from too little soap and hot water. Like all denfolk. Like me.

A vision of deep tubs and sweet-scented suds flashed by me. Memory quake? Nah, probably just those old mag photos again. I didn’t complain about my quality of life—still too grateful to be alive. But at some point before, I must have been clean and comfortable, ’cause I knew how it would feel.

I moved on, past acres of used clothing, chipped crockery, battered metal, and plastic anything. Sidestepped at least three bitter battles over who’d got to an item first. Maybe this vision of plenty was shakier than I’d thought. I was almost to 72nd Street before I saw signs advertising antiques, like, placing the good stuff closest to the folks most able to afford it. The trees were taller here. There was even some grass. Actual grass. I walked little circles on it, just for the spongy feel beneath my feet. It gave me a boost to keep going, cruise the antique stalls, maybe learn something about old furniture to impress Rubio with.