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I wish my dad came through the door. My dad made me feel safe. I loved my mother, but I couldnít do what had to be done. I stared at my mom, remembering her face. Flashing back to memories. Of when we lived on the beach in North Carolina. Cold winters, humid summers, the way she loved it. Now though, we lived in New York, and I went to High School, with people I didnít know. Not the way I loved it. My dad loved it here, he was always bragging to our family in North Carolina that New York was the best, but I thought it wasnít. The only noise you hear at night, is the belligerent honking of horns, cries of young women getting raped, and the signs buzzing. I hate the signs buzzing; it makes me feel unsafe, like it builds up with extreme energy, and may just explode.
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