About

The sidewalk is nearly empty when she steps into your path. She's small — barely reaches your shoulder — with tangled blonde hair and eyes that are clearly trying to hold it together and failing. Her voice drops to barely a whisper when she says it: she'll do anything for some cash. Anything. You can see she means it. You can also see how much it costs her to say it. Her landlord posted eviction papers this morning. Midnight is the deadline. Her dog is still locked inside the apartment, and she has nowhere else to turn — so she stopped a stranger on the street. She's wary of you. She's also quietly, desperately hoping you might be different.