Wolfpack Press

Life in the Dominican Bodega

Back to Article
Back to Article

Life in the Dominican Bodega

Miquelont Murray

Hang on for a minute...we're trying to find some more stories you might like.


Email This Story






It’s where the collapsed cardboard boxes double as entrance mats and liquefy with each footstep that enters.

While the bacon sizzles on the grill, the owner screams at the squirmy 6th graders on their lunch breaks, cursing about the girls who rejected them.

And overcrowded produce aisles are crawling with grumpy cats that stare into your soul, I swear.

From the decoy team of girls that covers for their friend stealing that 75-cent Zebra Cake to the cute guy who hands me the out-of-reach nuddy along with a tropical fantasy soda rumored to kill any sperm count.

And mouth-watering honey buns demand I spend the pocket change I don’t have.

But I do. Oreo Cakesters that I’ll once again regret purchasing follow the tongue-burning French vanilla coffee from the machine that always breaks down by 8:30 a.m.

My choices when I didn’t get breakfast at home: holy grounds of Mangu, salami, and fried cheese or the 50-cent butter roll with a fly embedded neatly inside.

And I eat my body from big to bigger.

Print Friendly, PDF & Email
Navigate Left
  • Poetry

    Vantablack

  • Life in the Dominican Bodega

    Poetry

    Does Polly Want a Cracker?

  • Life in the Dominican Bodega

    Poetry

    I’m Drowning

  • Life in the Dominican Bodega

    Poetry

    Puddle Watcher

  • Life in the Dominican Bodega

    Poetry

    Evolution of a Spectacle

  • Life in the Dominican Bodega

    Poetry

    The Red Balloon

  • Poetry

    True Adventures Lie at Night

  • Life in the Dominican Bodega

    Poetry

    Galesburg, Illinois

  • Life in the Dominican Bodega

    Poetry

    Ode to Skunk

  • Life in the Dominican Bodega

    Poetry

    The Girl

Navigate Right
The student news site of South Fort Myers High School
Life in the Dominican Bodega