I’d like to tell you about a city where people don’t attack things they don’t understand or argue about things before they’ve found out the facts. A city where people respect people simply because they’re people and don’t take advantage of each other just because they can. But since it doesn’t exist, I’m going to tell you about Santa Fe, New Mexico, and what happened there on March 17.
I passed the turnoff to my house, and I kept going. I found myself driving up the ramp onto the freeway. And that’s when I realized I was heading north.
Shawna stood in the kitchen on huge shoes, surrounded by admirers, glitter sparkling on her face, bouncing whenever she turned to greet someone new. “I love your clothes!” she told Yselle when Yselle and I entered. “They’re shmumfing. You can shmumf in them.” Like every other event in her life, Shawna had orchestrated this party in order to have something new revolve around her.
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Ten minutes later I extricated myself from her arm across my shoulders and went to find Yselle, who had grown tired of the conversation. She was in the living room talking to one of the good-looking guys with the Spanish accents.
Everybody likes Amelie, Yselle, I thought. “That’s cool.”
“What’s your favorite movie?” Diego asked Yselle.
