Alexander Kane

Twenty-four hours.

That was everything the city offered us before it declared my five-year-old daughter the queen of its decaying starving soul.

At 05:11 a.m. I find myself in the center of La Isla Dorada, where the restaurant has transformed from a haven of comfort and meals into a stronghold bracing for the end times. Each table is overturned to create barriers chairs piled up as protective fortifications and all the light bulbs removed and swapped with gold-infused ...