USPS

I wait in line, a second time.

The man in front of me shouts to someone.

they're too loud to understand
he screams into his phone,
and our ears.
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A tired Jamaican mother yells at the old Indian lady behind the glass.

The glass is thick, like a bank.

Which says a lot. Because we're not exchanging money here. Just anger.
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I submit again.

Swipe, code, click, done.

One payment down,
47 to go.

high school, here we come.
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