14 Street

We can only stare at each other, our words are meaningless right now, neither of us is really listening to what the other is saying, we are just there, two bodies made up of carbon and blood and bone, breathing with the same lungs and talking with the same mouth. This does not make sense. I have to get away, to escape from this mindfuck. My senses, already going crazy, are telling me to leave, to get away from this discomfort, to go to the place where everything is okay, where I am white and in the Midwest living my pseudo white middle-class existence, to where I am not allowed to question to touch the inner mushiness of my brain. I get up to go, grabbing some money out of my pocket, placing it on the counter.

"Look man, it's been nice talking to you, but I have to go."

My brain tells me to go, my heart wants to stay. It wasn't even an option for a kid who grew up believing that Newton was god.

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