Tall buildings, massive and concrete, lined streets of garbage and deserted boxes. The boxes, one might assume, had been housing at some point. This could not be a home, merely a shell that becomes too small for a family, thus it is traded in for a slab of cement near a dumpster. Hidden below a rusty stairwell and neon sign that lit an ill fated strip joint filled with smoke and beer and perversion, they make their new beds. No place for a family, "only silly dreamers who lose their way". This IS America, land of the free; Where there are those that venture, with wide eyes and huge dreams, into a world filled with monsters waiting to trod them into the dirt, where angel's are born of vagabonds to carry on the legacy of those who died trying. An angel among devils is how her father would have described her. Innocence at the back-door of corruption. Matted hair, tattered clothes, you could barely see a smile behind the pain, but you could find beauty in her eyes and in her voice. With her dirt smudged face and heart of gold she stood above the world. Atop a worn-out warehouse that helped create the alley she called home, she swayed with eyes closed and, for a moment, she flew. She would have flown away had it not been for the cold sprinkles of rain that began to fall, intruding her thoughts, her day-dreams. Muddy rivers formed as the small, uninvited, heavenly drops danced upon her forehead. No one could have determined whether it was stained with tears or just streaked from the down pour that seemed now to be taking its vengeance out on her. Clutched fists, renewed determination, full of life and hope...she would not give up...not tonight...no, not this night.....
