Bbc Daily Service

The city of New York is a place of extremes: extremes of poverty, extremes of opportunity.

But that’s no surprise.

As my mother, the daughter of a homeless immigrant family, wrote in the introduction to her latest book, The Biggest Story in Town: A Memoir of Growing Up Homeless, the city is an oasis in a city of extremes.

The streets are lined with people selling food from the street or selling their spare clothes to passersby on the sidewalk.

The parks are packed with children, teenagers and seniors playing basketball and playing with their toys.

And then, on Christmas Eve, the streets will all become quiet.

This will be the last time we see each other for a year.

This is not because I’m dying of starvation.

This, after all, is my first Christmas in a year since I was born.

This year, I’ll be back to being homeless.

That is what happened to me on that rainy day in April, when the NYPD arrested me and another person on charges of inciting an unlawful assembly.

This was the third time that I’d been arrested by the NYPD for the same crime, and the first time in two years.

It was then that I realized that I was in trouble.

For years, I had been accused of inciting a riot, and when I was arrested, the charges were dropped.

But this time, I was still charged with incitement of a riot.

I had no reason to be arrested.

But I did, and now I have to go to jail for it.

The day after the arrest, my father and mother went to the courthouse to see my attorney.

It wasn’t easy for them.

The NYPD had already sent me to jail a few days earlier, and I had already lost my apartment.

I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere in the city.

My parents and I were being sent to an isolation cell, with no food, water or access to our lawyers.

They were also told to stay at home and stay out of the media.

I was also placed in a cell alone, with nothing but a sheet and a pillow.

The night before my arrest, a court clerk called me to tell me that the police would be taking my fingerprints, and then that my mother would be getting a copy of my arrest warrant.

After my arrest on April 19, I cried.

I didn’t want to be on the street.

But my parents were determined to make me see the light.

So I went to see the judge.

The judge told me to sit down in front of him, and said I could make my way out if I wanted to.

I got in front, and my mother got me out of there.

It’s hard to describe the moment that my father walked up to me and hugged me.

He said, “This is your chance.

This has to be your day.

You can do it.”

The police had told my mother and I that the charges against us would be dropped when the judge saw that I had made it out alive.

My father, I told him, was telling me what the right thing to do was.

“I’m going to go and get you out of here,” he told me.

So, after a few hours in a tiny, cramped cell, we left the courthouse.

And I walked to the city police station, where I waited for an officer.

I told the officer what happened.

He told me I could go to the Brooklyn Bridge to get my passport.

I knew that I didn�t have my passport with me, so I said, �Well, I can�t go.

I don�t want to lose my passport,� the officer said.

I explained that I did not have my passports.

The officer was so shocked by this that he said, I will get it for you.

I said that I don’t have a passport with my name on it, so he said that if you need to get your passport, I�ll give it to you. And that�s how I ended up in a small cell with no window and no air conditioning, and nothing but my sheets and a few blankets.

I am still in that cell, and that�d be it.

Every time I would go out in public, I would be followed.

At first, I’d try to walk to my bus stop and then to my friends house, but it was too hard. I couldn�t do it.

So every time I tried to walk outside, I went out in the street to get to the bridge, which was only a few blocks away.

I went every day and I was always stopped by the police.

I would get arrested on the bridge and then the police kept calling me, telling me that I�d been arrested on that bridge and I needed to get on the bus.

I just couldn� t walk.

So one day, as I