Thursday, June 17, 2010


I can't copy the picture. It's not mine. But Here's the fragment that I found to go with it.

A place to sleep. Somewhere warm and dry. Days had turned into weeks, weeks into months. The dust was everywhere. Dust of a life I fled. The streets aren't as cold and lonely as every one says they are. There's a strange camaraderie among the homeless. But at night, 3:00 in the morning, the witching hour, it gets cold. It gets scary. For a girl on her own. A girl who refuses to sell her body, to sell her soul just for a bite. But I'll sacrifice some dignity.

The car is a heap. Rust on wheels, Decorated with droppings and dirt. It's abandoned, one door permanently askew. And this is a bad part of town. This time of night there isn't really a GOOD part of town. I'll just climb inside. I wish I could will it to run. To take me away from hunger and cold. I wish I could will flat bald tires to turn, to ride the curving gleaming pavement into a world that welcomes me with open arms instead of walking past my outstretched hand. In a hurry, like they've got someplace better to go.
The seat is barely there, worn and scratchy against me. But it's dry. It's warm. And it's full of dreams. Like me, someone once loved this car. And tonight? I'll love it too.

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