The "Bag Lady"

March 15, 2011
The rose was still alive and looking beautiful, everything else looked dead. The ratty, filthy, dirty clothes thrown on her. Her hair like a rats nest, she was covered in dirt. Her skin as grainy as gravel. Her faded midnight hair. Looking as if everything she ever had was lost. People would drop pennies, while others wouldn’t even stop. Most of the time you would see her holding a sign or trying to get people to stop or even look, but tonight see looked as if she had gave up and didn’t even care. She just laid there looking like she was dead or very sick, and she probably was sick. Knowing that she probably hasn’t eaten anything in awhile.
Just looking out my window made me realize that I am really well off. We might not be “rich” but we have a roof over our heads, and beds to sleep on. We don’t have to rely on some by-passers to give us minimum change so we can eat that night.
I was looking out the window, when she looked over. I thought she saw me so I scrambled and went to my room. That poor lady I thought. I had a permanent picture in my head of how she looked and how she lived out there, on the streets.
My mom used to tell me how lucky I was to live in a sheltered home, and until today I took that for granted. Now I wonder “does she even have parents, which she knows? Where did they go?”





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