Teenagers treated it like dares. Two boys dared one another to sleep in the chair beneath the neon; they woke with photographs of summers their grandparents remembered scattered on their beds. An old woman brought a shoebox of wartime letters and left with a single, perfect sunflower pressed between pages she swore she had never once folded. A man named Cruz, who had vanished from Derry at nineteen and returned at forty with a liver like a clenched fist, came to the Welcome and left the next morning with a laugh in his pockets like fresh coins.