At the community meeting, people spoke in overlapping bursts: potholes, noise complaints, stray cats. Inez sat with her notes folded, waiting for the courage to unfold them. When the chairperson called for new business, Inez’s hand rose before she planned it. “My street doesn’t have a sidewalk,” she said, voice thin. “Kids walk in the road.” A man across the room frowned. “We’ve talked about that for years.” Inez felt heat rise in her face, but she kept going. She described the near-miss she’d seen last week—the screech of brakes, a child yanked backward by a backpack. The room stilled. Someone muttered, “That’s dangerous.” After the meeting, two neighbors approached Inez. “Let’s petition,” one said. Walking home, Inez realized why stories mattered in public spaces: facts could be ignored, but a moment you could picture demanded an answer.