The pictures on the walls of Dana’s Cafe reminded me of home. Not the home we were living in now, because I knew I actually was at the house that I made my life in. My family, my friends, my school, everything that used to be so wonderfully constructed and clear was now in the ruins of the people who had abducted our America. The “America” that use to be free, The America that use to have the stumbling economy, And the America that always woke up to Good Morning America was now useless and non-existent to this world. You would never expect those dinky third-world countries to rise from their little halfhearted ashes, but we were wrong. Of course we would be wrong, because apparently we’ve learned that hope cannot be created from a large white house in Washington, DC, or what is left of Washington. This is only my story of millions. The story of where we’re tricked into believing we had a chance. The story where this world is different, And as stupid people, we don’t enjoy different.