Los Angeles, 1983.
The sun is already burning through the torn curtains of your window. Outside, you hear the distant thumping of a boombox, the clinking of glass, the roar of a passing Chevrolet.
Your alarm clock shows 6:15 AM.
You are lying on a narrow mattress in a room that smells of cold smoke and old carpets. Yellowed posters hang on the walls. A fan hums quietly in the corner.
Through the thin wall, you hear your mother. She didn't sleep all night. Not again.
Your part-time job at the supermarket starts in an hour and a half. The rent was covered by the welfare office – this month. Your account shows 23.40 dollars.
Before we begin: What is your name?