I remember the hot sun on a summer day. It would beat
down on me as I walked down my street. And make me squint as it reflected off
the glittering cement. I was on that same street today. Now there are tall
apartments looming over little storefronts, places with names like Bouchic. They look well put together,
and families come to shop on the weekends. Their strollers match their yoga
pants and they sip their coffee. But they rarely acknowledge each other. It’s
not the street I grew up on. It’s a cold street now, sunlight never reaches it.
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