There’s a rickety couch and side table perched on the curb at the end of the street, and on the arm of the couch is a sign that says, FREE.
I’m proud of them. How long did it take to inch their way out of that house? Did they have to climb upstairs from a basement, or navigate trappings of furniture down dark hallways? It’s clear no one cared for them anymore, so good for them.
Now, the terrifying wait for the one thing keeping them from freedom; a truck, and anyone willing to get them far away from here.