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Rhode Island AvenueBy Christine Stoddard QuailBellMagazine.com I was taught to fear Brentwood, but I went anyway
because I’m not afraid of the black or the poor, because black is just black and poor is just poor, and back then I could’ve collected welfare checks had I wanted, but I believed my poverty would pass and I believed I’d be stealing from hungry babies and I believed I was too damn special and proud to need—or admit needing—from anyone at all. I stood in Silver Spring, where I had paid for a friend’s meal, knowing he was much poorer, even homeless, and feeling strangely smug because I had slapped down my debit card. I could buy two sandwiches and two sodas, and now I would go Christmas shopping because I had money in my account and that made me a minor god. #capitalism #holidayjoy Sing low, sweet WMATA car. Coming for to take me home. CommentsComments are closed.
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