bryan_aiello avatar

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"Pinchudo!" he screams, regretting everything.

Everything.

His father fucking his mother.

His birth.

His impoverished-street-educated childhood.

The influence of New York.

The choice to escape, buy a plane ticket to Los Angeles, the Greyhound cross-country. Sleeping in the grass off the Manhattan Bridge. Finding his cousin. Being twentieth in the one-bedroom apartment. Getting this job, working his way up from dishwasher, trusted to bus tables, be the night waiter, pick up this shit shift on Sunday.

"What?" the fattest of the three asks, scowl deepening.

"Nothing," he answers, closing his eyes, thinking of home yet again.

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