Things Change

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FIRST EVER ITH ONE-SHOT

WOOOOOOOO

Note: Though this should be pretty obvious, all of Usnavi's thoughts will be in italics.

It was on a cold, gray December morning that Usnavi finally returned to Washington Heights.

It was somewhat of a relief to finally step off of the train and onto solid ground. Trapped between the bundled-up bodies of strangers as they all swayed back and forth with the motion of the train car and old, cheesy Christmas tunes drifted from the speakers, he felt like he was slowly suffocating. If he had to hear that "Jingle Bell Rock" one more time, he was sure he'd lose his mind.

As he rounded the corner onto his old street, he was stricken by how different it looked. He could see from where he stood that Daniela and Carla's salon had been replaced by a Barnes and Noble bookstore, and what had once been Mr. Rosario's dispatch had become a Pottery Barn. It seemed like there wasn't a single shop or business left from the old barrio. A sea of unfamiliar faces flooded the street, whirling around him like a human hurricane, ready to drown him.

If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend that nothing had changed, that the old signs had never been taken down, that he had never said goodbye. But then he would open them again, and reality would come rushing back in. Reality hurt.

Usnavi avoided eye contact as he shuffled down the sidewalk, keeping his head bent and his hands, red from the cold, jammed into his pockets. He could feel the distrustful stares of the surrounding crowd burning into the back of his head.

Something felt off, but what?

And then it hit him.

He felt like a stranger, an outcast, in the very place that had been his home for years. They knew how alienated he felt. They knew he didn't belong here anymore.

Ay, caramba...why am I even here? Maybe it wasn't even worth it. Maybe he should just turn around and head back downtown, where he knew Vanessa would be waiting for him with open arms and hot cocoa. He could probably catch the next train if he hurried. But something, some inexplicable, nagging feeling, drove him onward.

So he kept walking, wading through the sea of strangers.

However, he stopped in his tracks when he finally saw the bodega.

It looked so small and lonely now, jammed between a Starbucks and a Burger King, two of the monster franchises that had gobbled up the few customers he had had left. The grate was lowered, blocking Usnavi's view inside, and the lights were shut off. It was almost as if he had never left, as if the little store were simply closed for the night, as if he would return the next morning to open up shop and greet the friendly faces waiting eagerly for their coffee.

For a moment, he simply stood there in the cold, feeling the bitter wind tug at his coat, as he stared at the beautiful, vivid mural that Graffiti Pete had painted years ago. No longer so vivid, however, the bright colors had faded, the paint begun to peel. Despite this, Abuela's cheerful face was still easily visible, watching over the barrio with her kind eyes and heartwarming smile just as the real Abuela had done.

Usnavi found that his legs were moving of their own accord, his feet sinking into the fine layer of powdery snow that blanketed the cement and the asphalt. Suddenly he was standing in front of the bodega, resting one hand against the cool surface of the old wall, now coated with dirt and grime (along with plenty more new graffiti, but Pete was not to blame this time, he knew).

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