Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
A sudden blast of cold night air whipped through the shelter that stood by the curb, bathed in the sterile glow of a nearby street light. A discarded Styrofoam cup skipped along the sidewalk. Pages of a newspaper flew from the gutter and landed briefly on the panel of plexiglass at the end of the bench before lodging permanently in the doorway of a darkened building.
The corner of 79th and South Boulevard was deserted.
The sound of music and people shouting briefly filled the night each time someone opened the door of the tavern halfway down the block. A squad car passed and disappeared out of sight.
The short brunette adjusted the collar of her coat. She had caught the news on her break - the weather report said it would dip into the thirties overnight.
"No lie," she thought.
Under her coat, she wore the blue smock she used at work.
"One more layer won't hurt."
She was adjusting to the city faster than she imagined she would. This new life left a lot to be desired, but she knew what it lacked was more than made up for by what it offered. Gas-N-Go turned out to be a decent job - they gave her a chance even though she hadn't worked in years. The manager even tried to work with her when she had the grand kids. Her relief had a habit of coming in late; she welcomed the extra pay, but it was pushing midnight by the time she was able to clock out. Now she wished she'd grabbed a coffee before leaving.
A small sign on a pole creaked in the wind.
"MetroBus. Eastbound to Transit Center. Owl Service: Midnight - 6 AM. Thank you for riding."
Owl Service - the bus ran once an hour this time of night. After the most recent cutbacks, some routes didn't run at all past ten. Hands in pockets, she hunched in the corner of the shelter, trying to stay inconspicuous, keeping an eye out for trouble. Deep in a pocket of her coat, her right hand gently touched something that she took with her wherever she went.
"My precious cargo" she called it.
Her reminder. Her cherished memory. Her way to hold on.
"Everything in life," the short brunette had a habit of saying, "fell neatly into two categories. There were all the things you knew you could do and all the things you knew you couldn't. If you were honest with yourself," she insisted, "you could tell where something fit without having to spend a lot of time thinking about it. You just knew."
"Maybe this is wrong," she sighed, "but it's so much easier this way. No use taking chances. No use making a fool out of yourself. No use letting others in on the big secret."
In the parenting classes her oldest daughter had to take, they said that "win-win" solutions were the best.
"What planet were those folks living on?"
In the world she knew, "win-win" didn't exist.
"It's more like get screwed bad or get screwed worse. You just have to take it. You just have to shut up and catch your breath after he passes out, and his hands are off your neck."
