No Castles Here
Crossing the River
Augie Boretski snuck out.
“Stay in,” Mom had said before leaving for work. “I’ll be home by six.”
Stay in? On a super muggy, one-hundred-degree day in August? Their second-floor apartment had to be at least one hundred and twenty, even with the rickety fan going full blast.
The old lady downstairs stopped him as he opened the front door.
“Your mama, she worry.”
Augie shrugged. What did Mrs. Lorentushki know, wearing her long-sleeved dress and flowery apron on a day like today?
“I’ll be okay,” he said before letting the screen door slam shut.
Besides, Mom didn’t have to worry. He wasn’t sticking around this neighborhood.
He counted the change in his bulging shorts pockets, checking one last time that he had enough to make it to Philly and back. He was getting out of here. Out of Camden. The armpit of the world, he thought, home to losers and drug dealers. Philadelphia sparkled across the Delaware River from the Camden waterfront. The buildings looked like castles, with spires and promise.
He wa ...
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