A Guide to Legal Loitering

I spent most of my 13th year of life doing but a few things: hating myself, wearing the same light-pink baseball tee every other day, and loitering. On the mean streets of Brooklyn, we loitered everywhere—in nearby Prospect Park, on the stoops of grand brownstones that did not belong to us, in grease-soaked pizza joints. School had teachers, home had parents, but the streets were lawless.

Sort of.

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