I meandered to the side of the decrepit-looking 7-11, picking up a cigarette clip off the ground and lighted it. I sat behind the dumpster to count my haul. I emptied all the change and crumpled bills out of my pocket and began to count, $27.03. Today was a slow day. Three hours of standing in the parking lot of the Montauk highway 7-11 and that was all I made? But it was a brisk October evening, long past dark and I didn’t dare stay there any longer. If I stayed, more attention would be attracted than I was willing to risk. Plus I needed to do what I had to do and get to sleep on time to wake up for school in the morning.

I was slightly inconspicuous, thanks to my height. At 5’10 1/2” I could pass for older, but if anyone dared look past the sadness in my eyes they’d be able to see the 11-year-old features that still haunted my face. I went into the store to pick up the necessities, a hot cocoa and buttered roll, for dinner of course, and a vanilla dutch-master. I then made my way up the back block, only pausing to pick the remaining clips out of the dusty astray.

It was freezing out and getting colder by the minute. I wrapped the old hoodies tighter around my goose bump filled body, breath crystallizing in the air in front of me, and walked the four remaining blocks to my boy’s house. Upon arrival, I went through the gate and knocked on his back door .

“Hey Ang, whatcha need?” he said with a smile. Warm air smacked me in the face and started to thaw out my freezing body as I stepped in and followed him down the long hallway that led to his room.