A woman. Standing, listening. Anxiousness pulsing in her veins. She waits. Time seems to never end, but yet, time steals her life. Her body lingers on the brick wall, as her unkempt hair sticks to it. She waits. Rain from the tin-roof falls onto her nose, tickling her. Looking out at the pavement, the passing cars drive on. With a place and a purpose there is no reason to look at her, to hear her.
With her past on her shoulders, and her future in the arms of other men, she remains standing, waiting. She begins to think of the baby waiting at home. She begins to think of the life that baby doesn’t own. She stares so long at the green, red, and yellow lights bleed together. She carries so much pain in her chest that she doesn’t cry anymore. Instead, it just rains.
How much longer? She thinks. How much longer. At first that question was simple. But it increasingly became the synopsis of her existence. How much longer till a car stops in front of me, willing? How much longer do I have to lay here? How much longer will my son starve? How much longer do I have to live for?
She waits.
A truck stops.
Thank God, she thinks. Thank God?
What did he ever do.
The night is over and the man hands over the little bit of cash. There is enough money to keep her son alive for one more day, or maybe, she could spend the money elsewhere…