The House on Mango Street By Sandra Cisneros We did always live on Mango Street. Before that we lived on Loomis on the third floor, and before that we lived on Keller. Before Keller it was Paulina, and before that I can’t remember. But what I remember most was moving a lot. Each time it seemed there’d be one more of us. By the time we got to Mango Street we were six—Mama, Papa, Carlos, Kiki, my sister Nenny, and me. The house on Mango Steet is ours and we don’t have to pay rent to anybody or share the yard with the people downstairs or be careful not to make too much noise and there isn’t a landlord banging on the ceiling with a broom. But even so, it’s not the house we’d thought we’d get. We had to leave the flat on Loomis quick. The water pipes broke and the landlord wouldn’t fix them because the house was too old. We had to leave fast. We were using the washroom next door and carrying water over in empty milk gallons. That’s why Mama and Papa looked for a house, and that’s why we moved into the house on Mango
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