The wheels of my roll-bag made an awful clatter on the paving stones, so I stepped out into the street and walked on, into the quiet neighborhood. It felt like I could walk for blocks without a car challenging me. I passed a cemetery, ringed with evergreens, roses, and intensely green moss. A crow cawed. A teenage girl walked past in black jeans and a skull t-shirt. She was trying hard to look disaffected, but not quite pulling it off—her hair was too well-groomed, her skin too smooth. Suburban. She glanced at me, at my frizzy hair, nose ring, and black leather jacket, but was too young to know that I could never quite pull it off either. My rucksack was making my back sweat as the sun tried to come out from behind a high
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