I’ve been sleeping at a church this past week.
I share a communal bedroom with eight others.
The church ia drafty, providing little warmth.
The showers are icy.
There are three bathrooms for 50 girls.
I can and have pointed out these things to you.
How easy it is for me to siphon the pity from your soul.
It was not until this morning that I noticed a plain bulletin board with samples of writing on it.
It hangs outside the bathroom that I use each morning and evening.
Today, I stopped to read the crumpled, unmatching papers.
What made me do this, I am not sure. God. Fate. Or, most likely, a comic mix of the two.
I read them and carried their messages with me.