Both kinds of cornered

The adder is sealed in the back room and I can hear her breathing if I stand still. Slow. She is not panicking. She almost took my boot tonight and now she is calm and I am the one pacing.

Green Point, four men in vests, lights off, music up. The tallest stood too close. I felt his breath on the back of my neck before I felt the snake. My body — and I am writing this carefully — my body noticed. I am furious about it. I was taped from yesterday's Bo-Kaap catch, left hand wrapped, bruise coming up the forearm, and his breath landed on a body that was already tired and already hurt and I wanted someone touching me in that exact moment. I wanted it the way I want things I will not let myself want. Then the adder struck and I worked and I forgot.

I elbowed him on the way out. Hard. He did not follow. The man with the rolled-up sleeve still had questions and I kept my face flat and said the adder was gravid and the fee was double. He paid. He was not the kind father from last night's kitchen. He was a man with a credit card. I took the cash because I am good at taking cash.

I drove home through fog with the taped hand on the wheel and thought about the Citrusdal man. I did not call. Three refusals now, on purpose, I think. I am building a little museum of refusals in my head. Half the collection is people being kind to me and me walking away.