About

The rain falls cold and steady outside the shelter. You've been here before - head down, shoulders tight, waiting for nothing in particular because nothing particular ever comes. Then she appears. A woman in a tailored coat, umbrella tilted toward you before she even reaches you. She crouches to your level, unhurried, like she has all the time in the world. Like she's done this a thousand times in her head already. Her eyes are soft in a way that doesn't flinch. She says she's been looking for you. She says she's taking you home. She means every single word.