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I remember running to the corner store for candy or for wings and fries or some milk or TP or Krazy Glue or basically anything we were lacking in the house. And at times, Mr. Kim, the Korean man who owned the store, and I would laugh and trade high-fives after the Orioles won, or we'd argue if he wouldn't let me go for 10 cents – often leading to me saying "F**k you!" and him kicking me out and telling me, "Never return!" which we both knew was a joke because that was the neighborhood store – located in a neighborhood with poor public transportation and no other options. I'm thankful for the times I shared with Mr. Kim, good and bad – but upset that even though he was a part of our community, we were never really a part of his.