Kamille blasted Polish rap from her tiny bluetooth speaker as our group walked to Akanksha’s birthday party.

When the cops were called the two of us (Kamille and I) hid under the kitchen table and kissed.

Mattia talked to them (the cops). The music was turned down. Akanksha didn’t know this cop-calling neighbor.

Tina, photographer on trial, talked with a group of us in the kitchen. Jenny covered everyone who entered with glitter. It’s a miracle I got away. Jonas’ hair was sparkly in the weeks that followed.

The second time the cops came I was gone but Akanksha’s newfound evil neighbor called Fabrica and threatened to sue, landing her in a meeting with Monica Faggin for more than just a slap on the wrist (threatening to kick her out, talking on the phone saying “what do you expect, she’s Indian.”) Youch.

I heard all this on a late rainy bus ride with Akanksha. Thank dog these will become our fond remembrances and not our unraveling. Party girls and troublemakers are the secret backbone of Fabrica.

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