Once at Arnhem Central I only see orange. The mass of color makes me move towards my train, and I am stuck there.
A group of men my father’s age land in front of me. They are loud and say something unkind about my piercings. I close my eyes. “No sleep, huh?” He has the Dutch flag on his cheeks. “Hey girl, where are you from?” “I don’t want to talk to you,” I say. He hears my voice.
When he gets out he grabs my shoulder and says: “Dude, have a nice evening.”
I can’t sleep at home.
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