the outskirts of town

The brick buildings that line the old gravel road seem to sway, the smoke rising from the roofs following suite. I look at the long rectangular shape in front of me. I knew why I was here and what I needed to do. But knowing and doing are two very different things and I found myself longing to be back in the warm house in Chicago. Surrounded by my Mom and Dad and little Lucy instead of the brick houses that lay but 50 yards in front of me.

Fate is a funny thing.

I couldn't tell you why or how, but, for some reason, here I am, penniless and without a family to call my own.