The Cadence of the Unseen
The city is a percussion of indifference. It is the rhythmic slap of tires on wet pavement, the metallic shriek of the 7 train, and the heavy, measured thud of police boots on a concrete stairwell. I was twelve when I first learned to hear the music beneath the noise—the sound of a world that was trying to erase me. The eviction began at seven in the morning. The light was the color of a...
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