Elaine Wager swung her bare legs to the floor. On top she wore a man's Warriors T-shirt. Waking up as she walked, she found herself becoming dimly aware of a conceit of sirens down below, out in the city. The digital clock on her dresser read twelve-fourteen. Her apartment was a one-bedroom, twelve stories up, a few blocks north of Geary Street on Franklin near Lafayette Park. She glanced out the window – there seemed to be several fires a few blocks away in the Western Addition. To the south, too, the sky glowed orange.

Still carrying the phone, she moved quickly now through her sparsely furnished living room.

'What's going on, Chris?'

The tiny portable television was on the counter in the kitchen area. She flicked it on.

'We're in riot mode, Elaine. The projects are on fire. They lynched one of the brothers tonight.' Elaine sat down hard on one of the stools by the counter. 'Arthur Wade.'

'What about Arthur?' she asked stupidly.

'You know him?'

'Of course I know him. He went to Boalt with me. What about him?'

There was a pause. 'Elaine, Arthur Wade is dead. A mob lynched him.'

'What do you mean, lynched?' She was babbling, trying to find a context for it, an explanation for the inexplicable.

On the television, more of the now-familiar visions – already the crowds were out in the streets, already the shop windows were being smashed, buildings were burning. Her eyes left the screen, went out to the real city again.

'Chris?'

'I'm here. I was wondering if you'd heard from your mother.'

'No, not yet. I'm sure I will. Meanwhile, what are we going to do?'