“I just want a place to charge my phone,” Daniela says, standing in what seems like a cross between a bar and a warehouse, wearing a green and purple Dr. Seuss hat. Daniela is breaking out from this stress, all this stress of four in the morning and a cheetoh diet and everyone wearing strange costumes and her phone’s placid “connect charger.” Daniela’s breaking out, and she can tell when she looks in the harsh light-rimmed mirrors and sees the redness on her cheeks and the darkness under her eyes and the speckle of tiny raised bumps on her brow. Daniela’s...
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