I rested my head against the brick wall of the allyway.
If you haven't met me yet, pleased to meet you, my name is Kimberly Goode, I've been living on the streets for three weeks now and I smell like I've been living in a trash can. That is totally untrue, though. I've only been living near the trash cans.
I'm not exactly ready to tell you my heartwarming story of how I got in a fight with my mom, and when she said "You might as well live on the streets, you're never here anymore," that I actually took it to heart. I know a lot of wonderful people.
I took out my backpack to check how much food and money I had left. There was a pack of crackers, a half-empty bottle of water, a smooshed bag of M+M's and the three dollars and fifty cents I had left.
I could steal, I thought. I've done it before. What have I got to lose?
My freedom, I thought bitterly.
So I took out two saltine crackers and stuffed them in my mouth. I washed them down with a gulp of water, and then sat back. This isn't so bad, I thought positively. Life could be worse. I'm doing pretty well, actually. I could be dead, but I'm not. I've survived, so far.
I was tired. I hadn't slept in two days. I almost considered walking the twenty miles home. I could be there by the next morning.
But I wasn't going to give my parents the satisfaction of telling them I'd been wrong. So, instead of going home, I pulled out the the broken plastic hairbrush that I'd taken from home. I yanked it through my hair, then put my hair up in a messy braid. I tucked my braid into my beanie. I pulled up my hood. I slung my backpack over my shoulder. Fat rain drops strted plopping down here and there. I decieded to find a 7 eleven and stay there until the storm passed.
I got up and started walking down the deserted street, pulling down a MISSING poster of me as I went.