Perhaps all I'm missing is oil,

Perhaps my creaking scares others away.

I'm an immigrant. So what?

Drinking salsa like juice.

The night my second mom first brought me home, she explained that I was a remarkably unique being; she said it was my blood right to become The Protector of Pimp Lane.

My former boss, Ravi, instilled in me the importance of thanking people each time they make your life easier.

For as long as she could remember, Emilia felt as if her speaking and thinking worlds lived in consistent juxtaposition.

Bane of my existence,

Hinging on a fragile line.