Margo looked up from behind the counter. “You look like someone who needs a warm corner and a cup of tea. The politics can wait.”
Margo nodded. “In the drawer under the poetry section.” She turned to Alex. “See? That’s the community. A broken binder is an emergency. A pronoun slip is a chance to practice. And no one has to earn their place by being a perfect activist.”
Alex sat in a worn velvet armchair. Margo brought two mismatched mugs and sat across from them. “I’m Margo. I’ve been exactly where you are.”
