"It was six o'clock, and I was just closing down the store. You have to understand, the business district is usually very quiet that time of day anyway, and since the troubles had started, things were really dead - people were starting to be afraid to go out. If they did, it was for necessities, nor for fashion accessories. When I looked out the front window and saw her, she was alone on the sidewalk. The street was completely empty.
I knew her immediately. Well, not knew her, you know, but recognized her. She was the homeless woman. I had seen her almost every day, pushing the overloaded shopping cart full of her stuff down the street. Rooting through the trash bins behind the bakery. Panhandling by the coffee shop. I remember she had a gruff, throaty voice - what my father used to call a "whiskey voice". "Spare change, Ma'am?" Sometimes I would give her something and she would say "Bless ya". I never knew her name, where she had come from, what had happened to her. She was just a part of the downtown landscape, like the traffic lights or the fountain in the park. The sort of thing you never really notice until it's broken.
She just stood there. Her head was a an odd angle, as if there was something wrong with her neck. She was standing next to a dumpster, and something told me that she still somehow remembered this place, remembered that there was something that she did here. But somehow she didn't know what. She stood there like... like a puppet hanging from invisible strings. Or a robot, waiting for a command...
Then she turned and she saw me. Her eyes were like boiled eggs, but I could feel that she was seeing me. But there was no recognition in her eyes. No "bless ya". Only hunger.
|Previous Occupation||Retail Clerk|
|Clubs||0||Hand to Hand||0|