Change (Age Eight)

We live in a different neighborhood now: big houses, big yards. Nobody else has a rusty Pinto station wagon parked out front. No other kids have a silver cap on a front tooth, cracked in a bicycle crash. No other kids’ moms make their clothes. These kids say words that I don’t know, like “damn,” “shit,” and “fuck”. We moved here “for the schools.” I hate change.

[Other images in this scrapbook can be found here.]

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