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Note: This is a work of fiction from StarryNight05. Do not copy or reuse without my permission.

If any of you are interested, I based this story off of Seedfolks by Paul Fleischman.  

Intro[]

First it was on 15th, then it moved to 23rd, then it was on 37th, and now it’s on 42nd.

The coffee shop on 42nd Street.

It doesn’t look like much, with its plain white walls and old brown roof, but inside, it’s a lot more interesting than it seems.

People from all walks of life—young, old, white, black, friends, strangers, poor, rich, it’s a melting pot.

So come up, get some coffee, sit down, and observe.

Welcome to the coffee shop on 42nd Street.

Sandra[]

Life sucks. Hard. It’s a lesson that I had to learn over and over and over again, and it’s always stayed true.

To most, I’m unsuspecting. The teenaged girl with the ripped jeans and the crumpled jacket, who just sits in the back and observes. Every. Single. Day. A bit creepy or strange, maybe, but unsuspecting. I’ve gotten many looks in my direction, but I’m used to it.

I’m Sandra, by the way. Nice to meet you.

So, you’re new here, aren’t you? Don’t worry, so was I. And the first thing you learn here is about this coffee shop, and going there is kind of like an induction ritual.

Anyways, back on subject.

So, yes, I’m unsuspecting, and I’d like to keep it that way. Not completely invisible, but everyone tends to ignore me. That’s good. And whatever I say, don’t tell anybody. It’s a secret between both of us.

I wasn’t born or raised here. I lived in the town across from the river, in a small, two-bedroom house with no heating or air conditioning.

In other words, I was poor.

I didn’t really know my mom. She died before I got the chance. And maybe…if she was alive, things would’ve changed.

Every ounce of happiness my father had vanished along with my mother. He became angry and sad, and thought it was all my fault. He couldn’t control his anger anymore, and took it on me.

I had to endure twelve years of abuse. Twelve years of torture, of beatings, of crying to sleep, of hopelessness and fear.

Until I decided that I didn’t want to be scared anymore, and I wanted to escape. I wanted freedom.

So, at fourteen years old, I packed what little possessions I had, and ran. After several long days, I came to this town, hungry, and exhausted. Some employees here took pity on me and offered me some food and water. I thanked them, but refused any more offers for help. After going through twelve years of abuse from my father, I couldn’t trust anyone anymore.

I’ve been here for two years, poorer than I ever was before, living penniless on the streets. Sometimes I got enough money for a cup of coffee or a muffin or something, but it didn’t happen that often.

But I’m free. And I’m happier than I ever was before.

So that’s my story. You might be wondering, why did I go to you to tell my story? Well, young newcomer, I see…potential in you. You have something in you. I feel like you’ll understand me.

Don’t worry about me. I’m okay, for now. Maybe when I’m older I’ll tell everyone about my life, but for now I’m in this corner, as I’ve been for two years, the first to come and the last to leave. I don’t know what my future will be. Might get a better life, maybe find someone who actually cares for me.

But for now, farewell.

Devon[]

Father always said that I and our family were always destined for greatness, and that one day, I’d be honoring my family legacy.

Of course, you don’t get a word that I’m talking about.

I’m Devon West the Eighth, son of Devon West the Seventh. And you know all these buildings on Main Street? Nine of them will be mine one day, and I’ll be the richest man in town.

My great-great-great-great-great grandfather was a business investor and came here to have a break from the big city, and to settle down in peace. He ended up owning buildings on Main Street, and he eventually got control of nine. He wanted his children to carry on the fortune, and his firstborn son got the same name as him.

It’s a tradition passed down from generation to generation, from my great-grandfathers before me, my grandfather, my father, and one day, me.

I’m the only son, so I have a big responsibility. It’s important, and I’m going to have a fortune and everyone will respect me.

Like my father says, I’d be honoring the family legacy. I have ideas and plans to expand the fortune, but my father won’t listen.

He’s very traditional. He wants things to be exactly the same as they were decades ago, when the fortune was made. The same businesses. The same inheritance tradition. The same amount of money. And the exact same place.

I don’t want that. As business owners, we must expand our money and businesses, which means more businesses to buy. And if we want to expand our fortune, we must go beyond this town, and into the city, where all the action is! We have to look in the future and twist the tradition around to be successful!

My father doesn’t listen. He seems to think that I am a simple boy who doesn’t know how money works. But I’m not. What do you think I’ve been trained to do in life? We’re investors! And what can my ancestors do? Crawl out of their graves and scold me?

I’ll prove my father wrong. I’ll expand our fortune, be richer than before. I’ll be famous and known.

I’ll be everything my ancestors have wanted.

Honey[]

My name isn’t Honey.

It’s Andrew.

I guess I should explain myself, but since you’ve been with Devon West, who just brags about how rich he’s gonna be someday and complains about his dad, I feel like you’ve had enough explaining. Serves him right. He’s always been that way.

I like observing people, and what better way to do it then go here? All you have to do is order a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles, sit down, and look.

There’s the homeless dark-haired girl who sits in a corner and observes, but in a creepy way like she’s staring into your soul. There’s the old Korean lady who always drinks a cup of green tea prepared by herself, the young black guys who are always looking for a girl to validate their lives, and the Indian lady who invites everyone to her apartment for jalebis and chicken biryani every week, and somehow is still able to have a stable income.

I feel like...if I just focus in other people’s identities, I won’t have to worry about mine. I’ve been struggling, you know. That’s why I don’t like folks like Devon, where everything comes easy to them and they’ve never worried in a day of their life.

Biologically, I’m male. I was born male. But I’ve never felt comfortable as male. I have this desire...I want to be something else. I don’t want to be confined to something I don’t like just because society says so.

I don’t know myself anymore, I guess. I don’t know if I’m male or female. I don’t know what I should do. And it’s not like I can run, or escape, or hide.

I’ll have to wait.

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