I can't pinpoint it, but it has something to do about movement and speech. The way they blink their eyes, how they smile. And I can't help but see when I look them in the eyes some kind of underlying motive.

They're out to get me.

They hate me.

They are the ones who think they are better than me.

I was born in this town and my ancestors lived here before there was ever a sign of pollution. Why should they let foreigners here now?

"Mrs?" I hear her ask in my language, but her accent is thick. I look up at her, raising my eyebrows.

"Yes?" I respond to her blankly.

"I'm sorry I haven't been here before."

"I know," I tell her.

She's holding out the cash and it hangs in the air. I take it reluctantly. I open the cashier.

Ding.

"I like your dress," she says roughly.

What do you want?

I nod curtly and take her money and ring up her produce. Seven dollars in change. I give her six. She doesn't bother counting.

"Have a good day," she says and leaves with her head down.

I didn't respond.