This morning when I woke up, I felt strange and foreign. To everything. New York, the family, money and especially myself. I had changed in the past three years. My skin was tough and dark from spending days out in Main Street trying to sell apples and oranges. My hair was growing long and had been in a braid for a month. Last year I was evicted with Mother, Dad and Jackson. Dad died of stress. Ever since then, everybody is trying to make a difference in America. To make it better, The Times say.
Like that's ever going to happen to my country.
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