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I bought some yogurt, coffee, and various treats in the supermarket down on Bushwick Avenue, the place filled with the stench of smoke, but I was so happy the place had re-opened; I didn’t even remember that the store had burned down a couple weeks ago till I had stepped outside with my plastic bag.

A woman crying, scratching herself, wearing flannel PJs.

A woman whose dyed and braided hair matches the weaving of her purse’s strap.