My Neighborhood-Personal Narrative

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My Neighborhood-Personal Narrative I would wake up Saturday morning to birds chirping. I would get up, get dressed and go outside. The children in my neighborhood would come to my backyard, and we would play 'til our parents called us in. I remember the trees being huge, and the days so long. I didn't really know many of my neighbors. I had a handful of friends who lived in the same building, and that was it. The neighborhood itself was pretty bad. Sometimes I would wake in the middle of the night to the sound of gunshots. After living around Central Park and Armitage for a while I kind of expected the gunshots. In fact, my mother and I survived a drive by shooting. I am glad my mother restricted my interaction with the outside world. Were it not for her, who knows what I would be doing now. That is, assuming I were still alive. As you may be able to tell, I grew up in a poor community, mostly blue-collar workers. Even though I lived in that community for six years, from the time I was five until I was eleven, I wasn't part of it. More so, it was a part of me. As a ...

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