Sol continued. “Did you fail geography or something? You attacked a city while you were in it. Jesus!” Sol turned back toward the shadow engulfing the side of the bridge where she’d come from, her voice dropping to a harsh deadpan. “Dude, a few weeks ago, it really seemed like you were done with that childish shit, always picking conviction over compromise. But look at this shit.” Her arm shot up into the air, gesturing at nothing, everything.

“It’s beautiful.”

“That’s the problem, Apollo. Revolution is supposed to be hideous. Only ideals are beautiful.”

Sol sauntered off toward the conflagration as swaggeringly as she came, leaving Apollo on the bridge, his skin aglow in the light of the growing flames. Undisturbed, traffic continued underneath, a calm chaos of light and speed and friction. Minutes later, Zed’s MINI burst onto the bridge, cruising away from the fires. Apollo watched as the taillights slowly evaporated into the darkness, swallowed whole by the maw of the night.

author's acknowledgments

I had a lot of help. In a broad sense, I’m forever indebted to Mom, Dad, Jr., Nadine, Mike, Tommee, Torrence, Cedric, Cameron, and Hannah. Y’all fed me and made me laugh and gave me that look when I was mouthing off. More specifically, I thank Harold for reading the earliest drafts chapter by chapter and patiently offering writing tips and additional reading. I thank Kelly for giving me constant encouragement and providing critical insights about the business of publishing. Shouts to Hafidha for emphasizing perspective and tone. Props to ZR for pointing me toward writing resources and highlighting places where the narrative could be strengthened. Preesh, Sheldon, for reading so many versions of the manuscript that you could probably invoice me (please don’t). And finally, thank you Rashele and Luna for lovingly insisting that I go to sleep and take walks and chill out; it was always good advice. You learn a lot writing a book, but my main lesson has been that I’m damn lucky to know so many brilliant and generous people.

My fortune extends to my reception by Vanessa and the rest of the Kindred Books and Brain Mill Press staff. When my manuscript sat on my Google Drive, I was simply pleased with it; through your efforts, I’ve adopted a swelling pride. Thank you.

about the author

Stephen Kearse is a reporter and critic from Atlanta. He now lives in Washington, DC, where he regularly laments the lack of good biscuits. He has been published by the New York Times Magazine, Hazlitt, Pitchfork, and The Ringer, among other outlets. He loves Georgia summers.