"You're telling me," she snorts, and takes her own drag. "Doesn't even gotta be that. It can just be 'good for them,' an' hang the consequences for everyone else."

There's a satellite photo she saw once, of the Red Town/Seattle border. A slum on one side, and a gold course on the other. There'd been a wedding going on, with horses and white dresses, not five hundred yards from a place where children died screaming in their own shit.

"Hell of a damn place. I guess it's better than prison, but not by much."