Clutching the strap of my backpack to my shoulder, I get the sense that someone is watching me. I just don’t know who, from where, or why they’re doing it. It doesn’t matter. I’m used to people staring. This is a very conservative area and the simple fact that my hair is a different color than everyone else’s is enough of a reason for people to gawk at me when I walk by. Add on the Day of The Dead makeup, it’s impossible to miss me.
