wip

Why is there no blog post this week? After giving brain power to work, plants, and mountains, I only have enough left to think about this thing I started writing. Here are three paragraphs.

Because she is in her 20s, white, and employed at an office in an urban area, she goes to the climbing gym after work. The place is filled with people who check off the same demographics boxes she does. Once, she saw a black guy there. Sometimes she sees an Asian or Indian person–more men than women. There are a lot of Asians and Indians north of the river, but not that many black people. Especially ones who can afford the gym fees of nearly a thousand a year.

Like many people in Camberville, June grew up somewhere else and moved to New England. She did it in search of independent adulthood, desperate to escape the life she grew up in. She adopted the lifestyle completely, abandoning the sports teams of her motherland for the Pats, Sox, Celtics, and Bruins. She had winter boots, rain boots, sandals, and a pair of barefoot shoes to run in. She had more long underwear than shorts, by volume and quantity. She drank Magic Hat, Sam Adams, and beers from local breweries. Her gin came from the Berkshires, and cheese a goat farm near Northampton. She complained whenever she had to go somewhere more than five miles away, and acted shocked when someone didn’t know how to eat Ethiopian food, even though she hadn’t known when she first moved to the area.

She wears the same climbing shoes thirty percent of the climbers there wear. They are the cheapest pair on the market that still comes from a brand name company, available at REI and EMS, frequently included in seasonal sales. Until you have enough experience to know what you want, just get the cheapest pair you can find. They fit like a glove. Until she broke them in, it was uncomfortable to wear them, but over time the leather stretched and the shape conformed to her feet.

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