Lorea is written by Alicia E. Goranson and read by Katherine Cross.
Transcript:
When Lorea visits her collective, as they gather to discuss resource distribution, leftist gossip, and who petted the cutest cat that week, she is at a disadvantage. The structure is supposed to be flat, the hierarchy eliminated, which is difficult to do when you own your own warehouse and fleet of trucks. Lorea works with the ships coming in on Puget Sound, bearing their goods to the waterfront for the next stage of transport. She is skilled in international shipping, ensuring all the correct forms meet their requirements. She employs a lawyer whom she has never dated.
She regularly sends trucks across international borders to Canada and has rarely been caught bringing drugs into the country without smoothing the matter over first. Lorea knows how to get the best Japanese whiskey flowing in the apartment she keeps in a nice South Seattle gentrified neighborhood, although visitors rarely find her there, married to the job as she is. She has crash space in the top of her warehouse where she regularly disappears when the jobs are coming in hot and heavy.
It’s feast or famine in shipping but Lorea still finds time for darts and pool at the south end bars and the occasional one night stand through Lexx. It’s just that other members of her collective squat in decaying houses, or in tent cities under bridges. Some cluster-rent in old apartments built for migrant workers in the 70s. Some still pan-handle or busk, work graveyard gigs, or have online hustles that they are too busy to talk about.
And here’s Lorea, nails done perfectly, black leather vest with eyes that must have taken a half hour to get right, bringing up that maybe the collective should look into building five-over-ones near the Ike’s over by the Lake. Yes, the money is there but also Lorea handles that kind of cash for funsies on a weekend at the Sodo strip clubs. No one’s voice should mean any more than anyone else’s and yet this thirty-year-old looking woman who has probably killed a man in front of cops has opinions that pass through their minds with the weight of icebergs. When they tell her “no,” she nods and folds her hands and thinks whatever they decide is cute. She knows the point of this collective. She knows her power. And she is very careful not to whip it out and lay it on the table, bare for all to see and fear.
-END-
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