As I took a deep inhalation through my nose, I noticed the aroma of hot dogs being cooked. My gaze averted to the stand on the corner. I closely observed the man behind the carts carelessly drizzle ketchup and mustard that he dumped on the link. Despite the poor quality of the food, customers graciously accepted the classic New York City hot dog. Moments later, the overpowering stench of garbage stole my attention. My head rotated to the garbage can located just feet in front of me. It was loaded to the brim with coffee cups from Starbucks, empty boxes that were previously stuffed with the Chinese food from the restaurant just a block away, along with thousands of other undesirable artifacts.
My engrossment with the trashcan ended as my mother gestured towards the theater and yelled, “Gentry! Look!” I jolted towards the flashing marquee, with the words “The Lion King” printed in bold letters. The powerful yellow and gold designs displayed in the front windows intrigued me. Excitement coursed through my veins.
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My mom and my grandma followed close behind, most likely enjoying my uncharacteristically excessive confidence, which they hadn’t seen before. I had an affinity for the city. It made me feel like I belonged, like I wasn’t alone. An accumulation of my dreams was happening before my eyes.
My grandma bought an overpriced bag of popcorn from the little concession stand. I longingly watched the worker scoop the popped-to-perfection creation into a disappointingly small box. I picked up one kernel, absolutely drenched in butter and coated in salt. I took a single kernel and placed it in my mouth. I felt the pungent, yet comforting flavor and savored