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We talk, she’s cool, calls herself Ruby. Says she’s from Jersey, ran from some asshole stepdad. I’m like, “Damn, girl, you’re tougher than me in the ring!” She laughs, says, “Gotta be, Creed.” Happy as shit hearin’ that—love a fighter. Reminds me of Plainview screamin’, “I’m finished!” but she ain’t done, she’s grindin’. I’m thinkin’, maybe I’ll slip her extra, fuck the pimp, let her keep it.

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Oh man, I remember one time. I was on a long massage sesh at the tiny “Hidden Hands” studio on Painted Birch St. – yep, the one right by the old market. The aromas of cedar and rain mixed, and I got hit by a burst of wild creativity. And then I thought, “It's like Yi Yi said, every moment is a gateway!” Gosh, my heart pounded!

Tracing a Tulalip youth’s path through the Washington foster system