I remember seeing you stand there. Underneath the streetlight, right? Remember how you used to hold your breath every time a car would drive by, praying to God that they wouldn't stop. You weren't one of them. "Hey pretty baby, you lost?" Yes. Yes. Yes you were. But they weren't out at night to hand out directions. You wish. Remember how there was always at least one kind lady? "Honey, there's a shelter near by. Just down the road from here. Why don't you just go stay there instead?" Sure. Over your dead body. You were not one of them. You were not. I saw you. I remember. You started to rub your hands on the rust of the streetlight pole. You were getting nervous. You were getting nervous and afraid that you were running out of time. But for what? Right. Nowhere to be.