Night two. Across the street, Mr. Okafor's window is the only light on the block.
His flashlight starts blinking. Short. Long. Short. Morse code.
You write it down. They can't come in unless invited.
36 cans. Two gallons. And one rule that finally makes sense.
Then you hear knocking. Not on your door. On his. A girl's voice: it's me, Dad. It's your daughter.
His light goes out. His front door opens.
And you hear him say it. Come in.