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During my sophomore year, I befriended one of my coworkers who was a Syracuse resident. She was a biracial young woman who worked incredibly hard. During our time at Chipotle on Marshall Street, she told me about growing up poor with a single mother in Syracuse, surrounded by instability, substance abuse and death.
When I found out she was working two jobs and had been picking up extra shifts because she was staying at a shelter, my stomach filled with rage, guilt and resentment…