In March of 1993 I came back to Stamford, CT from college and went to a McDonald's at the intersection of Broad Street and Bedford Street while waiting for my uncle to come home. Once I ordered and sat down to eat a woman with her hyper son entered. They spoke Persian although the mom seemed very beaten down and tired. The son enthusiastically told his mom in Persian that he wanted french fries and the mom in Persian responded that she would get them for him. She place her order using her broken English. I should have spoken to her if only to enable her to communicate in her mother tongue so far away from home. I don't know why I didn't.
I remember when I first arrived in the US due to the different culture I was brought up in, the folks in town teased me and considered me "not right" and implied slight mental illness or simply being different. I was in a relationship of some kind with this girl in town. She once told me, “Everybody thinks I should be afraid of you, but I’m not.” The town's sheriff would take photographs of us and follow one or both of us in his vehicle. Eventually I caught her making love to an unidentified person. Shortly afterwards the sheriff also arrived and spotted me. I fled, leaving my scarf behind on the branch of a bush. My girlfriend disappeared under suspicious circumstances and was later found dead. Shunned by many, I was immediately considered the main suspect. While in the interrogation room, I was shown a white cloth, which the sheriff identified as the item used to strangle the girl. I denied that the girl and I were romantically involved. Locals vandalized o...
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