Someone recently low-key implied it’s a privilege to be a vagabond and get to pick a destination and just get up and go, and that I should consider myself lucky my home blew up and I almost died, and I get to cosplay a whimsical pirate fairy queen.

I’m guessing they don’t have a four-year-old on the autism spectrum who spends every evening asking when he can go back to his castle.

His castle is what he calls home.

No, it’s not a castle, of course. Just our little Ottoman apartment in the Old City. But to........

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