I step to the corner and pivot around the two women. One, of course, has a watermelon of a belly. The other moves a double stroller in the smooth back and forth of experience.
Hoboken.
Years ago said with embarrassment. A joke of a town. Now it rolls from my tongue between puckered lips. I imagine dropping the H, adding a French inflection. O-Bo-Ken. Proudly, I say it. My home now.
I have come to believe that home is a tricky concept. Once I thought it synonymous with ownership. Of things, carefully chosen for their impact on others. Of a name printed on an official document. How wrong I was.