Cameron Ivory

Kimba

I heard her crying in the night. I was walking home from another late night at the office and the last thing I needed was to deal with some vagrant. The homeless had become so numerous in our city that I hardly even noticed them anymore. I continued walking up the hill to the brownstone where I shared a flat with three roommates and I thought to myself, at least the homeless have personal space. As I turned the corner onto my street, I saw the source of the echoing cries and stopped short. Standing under a scraggly tree that had grown twisted and warped from lack of sunlight was a woman barefoot in a simple slip dress. She was holding her arm and sobbing profusely.