Refuge from the madness
The smell of urine burning my nostrils as I walked the streets I once slept on just a month earlier.
In a one bedroom apartment in a building that looks like it has been through a mortar attack on the outskirts of Little Havana, I take refuge from the madness that lies outside my front door. Miami is as rough as Los Angeles—a cruel, vicious, and unforgiving place where I don’t entirely fit in. At least on the West Coast, I could blend into the scene.
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