Don’t Beat My Sister

Htet Htet is someone who demands to be seen. At twenty, she is ferociously attractive, with waist-long curly hair, dark skin, a thin yet voluptuous figure that she proudly displays. When I meet her for the first time—in June at a Starbucks off Seattle’s Martin Luther King Boulevard—she is wearing ripped, tight black jeans, studded sneaker-boots, a floral crop top, large hoop earrings, a baseball cap worn backward, and a jeweled chain that circles her bare waist and partly obscures her belly button ring. A collision of gangster-girl and seductress, she seems to be asking for attention and giving the world the finger at the same time.

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