Rough hands propelled me forward and around the side of a home I knew I would never live in. It didn’t seem to matter how fast I shuffled it just wasn’t fast enough. I took in what little I could of my surroundings at the pace that was set for me.

There was a man to the left trimming the bushes into rather complicated shapes. I could see him pause and shake his leg as if something was crawling on it. The glint of the chain that ran from his ankle off into the grass was the last thing I saw before I rounded the corner.

I stumbled and almost stopped at the extreme contrast of what I had witnessed up until this moment clashed with what I was seeing. For every finery and embellishment I had passed these sad little shacks lacked. Where the main house was made of stunning brick these were made of wood. Dilapidated, unpainted, worn, wood that was so warped everything seemed to cant in every direction at once.

A jab to my kidneys propelled me forward and reality hit me with two words. “Welcome home.”