Today, I turned seven years old. I live at 94 E. Market Street in Long Beach, California, our apartment is in the back right up the stairs. With a note from my dad, I’m allowed to pick up cigarettes for him at a small store on our side of the street. Sometimes, I even get enough money to buy ice cream. My father works for Owens-Illinois on Fruitland Avenue in Vernon, a glass factory making bottles. Life is a bit upside down while my mother still lives in New York, though I won’t truly appreciate that for years.