The woman in the elevator (who’s in sales) is so nice, but she says my name over, and over, and over. (Even when I don’t say hers.) She says, Good morning, Ada. How was your evening, Ada? Have a good day, Ada. So my name becomes an advertisement, or a product to be bought and sold. I want to take it back from her mouth.
There’s an awful story in the news. For days you cannot sleep; it’s too hot, it’s too cold. It’s just a story in the news. Not another human, not a whole country, not another animal, just a piece of paper. Then you feel a little better. You go to the train and wear your headphones, you listen to a sad song that sounds familiar.
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