The rain in Manhattan doesn't wash things clean. It just makes the grime slicker
Elena Vasquez knew this. She had been walking through Midtown in a downpour for twenty minutes, backpack strapped tight, trying to reach the 24-hour bodega on 42nd Street before the bus stopped running. She was tired. Tired of the library till two, tired of the bus fare eating her lunch money, tired of trying to look like someone who belonged at NYU when half the students on campus had trust...
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