The Moon’s Navel
“You’re Mexican!” he said a little too enthusiastically, like I was just what he’d been looking for. I worried that he was going to put me in his museum or something.
How is anyone from here?
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There was nowhere to go back to. Oklahoma was out of the question, always out of the question. But then, where was home?
All the wrong people are crying, and all the people who ought to feel something do not.