“Oh, cool. I went to Los Angeles with my father a few years ago, and there’s a big Iranian community there. Y’all have killer food.” “Killer?” Her back straightened, and a frown furrowed her brow. “No, our food no kill. We not killer. Like here, good people and bad people. But we mostly good, like Americans. Our government bad, like yours.” I hated seeing the panic in her eyes. Her hands moved expressively, and her face scrunched up in frustration, which made me realize she was searching for words she couldn't grasp. I touched her arm, an action I regretted when she immediately pulled away.
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