
Living in Nevada was like walking into a den of vipers. The heat pressed against my skin. The world around me was both strange and surreal, soaked in quiet violence no one dared to name. Grief clung to every street corner. Pain settled in my chest as though it had been waiting there all along. Hate crimes lurked in the shadows, whispered betrayals followed me everywhere, and eventually, even my own blood treated me like a stranger trespassing on borrowed ground. Nevada was more than unforgiving. It was a place that sharpened its edges against me. Everywhere I turned, someone stood ready to lure me into another spiritual snare dressed as redemption. I was alone, a stranger in a new country, without friends.
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