Maybe I need that little taste of home; maybe I’m longing for the familiar…
It’s a big city and this is just one small part of it. Blocks and blocks of trash. Black boys with face masks on. Women, not wearing uniforms, holding open the door of Dunkin Donuts for me. The woman behind the register wearing a burqa.
There is a dog in the room next to ours, and it is not mine. There is a cat downstairs. The backyard is covered in ice and poop; there is no trash can out there.
This is not my home but I’m not homeless.