I hope that Genta is keeping himself occupied. I will nod to him as I pass his cart, not close enough to be a distraction, not far enough away that he cannot see me. I can do this for him, at least. I can acknowledge him.

He has a customer. Excellent.

No. No. It is that representative of Messiah.

I break into a run, panic and desperation and fear informing my movements. "Genta! GENTA!"