“Where I live?” Jonah lifted his red eyes out over the broken Streets. “It might look like I live here.” He flung his metal arms wide to take in all the rubble. “But I don’t. I live in Greenhome.”

“Greenhome?” I asked as if I didn’t know. “Is it like this?” I nudge what might have been a bit of building with my toe.

“This? No. Greenhome is good, and clean, and safe. It’s warm and there’s enough food for everyone. In Greenhome kids, born and unborn, have parents. They teach us to read there and about months. It’s a small town with a white rose Hedge going all the way around it that blooms year around. That’s home.  Not this.  Not the Streets anymore.”