The city doesn’t sleep at 3 a.m. Not anymore. Not when the lattes are humming. I talked to one man who wouldn’t give me his name. Said he’d testify, but only off the record. His hands shook the whole time. I filed it anyway.

The pumpkin sat there under the lamp, quiet as stone. Didn’t say a word. Pumpkins never do. But the numbers? The numbers sang like a canary.