Blanky

The sun is sluggish to rise, although it will be in anger this day.

Only those working construction and those without construct exist on the street. Huddled next to a neon church, named Hungry Jack. A place with no locks on its doors. So those who abuse substances, more terrible than what the establishment offers, call home.

While I have heard and seen many a sadness, this one is sure to take the day. At least, I hope, I can bear no other than this.

A woman, barefoot, holding a blanket. In a daze of whatever flows throw her veins. Staring at the reflections of neon, as if peering into another life.

As I walked passed, she was bathed in neon. A shadow to me. And to her former self. But in that shadow I saw a little girl holding her favorite blanket.

Is she scared? Is she looking for her parents? Are there monsters under her bed?

Sadly, I know the answer is yes.

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