“The home, with its boarded windows, chipped paint, and weed-strewn lawn, looked like a war zone. Of course, given the neighborhood’s general neglect and how many of its citizens faced death on a daily basis, that wasn’t far from the truth.“This is your house?” “Yes,” Acevedo said. “The neighborhood went to hell about ten years ago or so. It used to be beautiful.”“And you stored the most important thing in the world in this dump?” Acevedo nodded. “Never underestimate the power of hiding in plain sight.”Marina looked up and down the street, saw some thugs standing at the end of the block, wearing oversized clothes that surely covered guns.She felt guilty for stereotyping young black men, but wasn’t naive. It was the neighborhood, not their color. She told herself she’d feel the same way if it were any other race of young men hanging around looking like thugs. She also realized that anyone living here had to adapt to their surroundings so as not to stand out, and that any kid living here... would naturally don a thug’s persona.MoreLessShow More Show Less
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