Life can be tough. But what if your life involved sleeping in the street, getting beaten by heavy rain, and having the cold slap you in the face during winter? What if you had to watch someone get killed in front of you like they were just a tiny fly? That was my reality. I'm Marcus Taylor. At 22 years old, 6.5 feet tall, and with curly hair, I'm that person who grew up on the streets. They told me my father and mother died in an accident on the highway from Chicago. I was just an infant, whom they strapped to the back seat of the car. Of course, I remembered nothing of what happened while I was growing up, so I had no reason to question their deaths. My parents were poor before they died. I needed no one to tell me that. I had no inheritance left to me. And the closest family they could have taken me to rejected me. I mean, who rejects a baby? But that's the definition of the useless uncle that I have. That was the reason the orphanage took me in, and then when I ran off, it was

May 16, 2005, every person on the street had already forgotten that Andrew had been shot. At this moment, it felt as though it had happened a long time ago. But he was only shot the day before. My sleep throughout the night was disturbed by the dream of what happened during the day. And one of the persistent questions that I kept asking myself, even in my sleep, was: If the old man had not recognized my necklace, what would have happened to me by now? The new day began with the rising sun, which arrived far too early, and everyone on the street already started their day by begging for food or money to buy it, or pick-pocketing for cash. I also saw a few boys across the road planning some kind of illegal activity that also involved stealing from a gang. But of course, for anything that involved stealing from either of the gangs, I will not be part of it. However, it did not undermine the fact that Andrew stole from the big gang, gave the other boys the courage to do the same, and "e

Voices continued as they gave themselves instructions on where to search and where not to. "But is there such a thing as 'you do not have to search that area'?" No one would hide in the dirt just to save his head. Isn't that the real place you should search for? "For f**king sake, I can't be the only one arrested on the street!" I continued to stare at the dumpster. None of the police had gone near it. Silly heads. They were looking into different houses and stores around. "Why won't these blockheads just open the dumpsters, search the trash bags, and go into the silent corners of the bridge? These are real hideouts for the people living on the street." "Let's go! We will come back another day!" Two police officers got into the patrol car. But the patrol car was not the only car the police brought to the street. There was also a black van behind the patrol car, and over five officers jumped right back into it. The car started, and the police officer who was in the driver's seat

As soon as Mr. Harry Rice finished talking, my stomach began to rumble. He looked at me with a little smile on his face. If that was the case for me, it was a lie. I felt so empty inside, and I took my hands to rub my stomach, like a pregnant woman would."Seems like someone really needs food. I know a restaurant. I will take you there," he said.His words surprised me. No one had been this generous to me before, let alone offered to take me to eat well, except for Andrew, who had stolen for me as well. If only he had not used me as a device to save his head when things went wrong, I would have been grateful until the day I die.Mr. Harry Rice got out of the car, as he was sitting in the back seat, and came back in because he was now in the driver's seat."Hold on," he said.He kicked the car, and the engine roared to life. The music started, and he turned the steering wheel to the right, coming out of the queue he had parked in.As he drove, he grooved to the music, singing loudly at

As she took my hands and led me into another section of the boutique, which was hidden behind a curtain, the number of clothes I saw on the racks amazed me. "Do you like it?" the staff asked. How could I not like what I saw? She need not have asked because my face showed it all. "I love it all!" I exclaimed. "Good!" she said as she hurried her steps towards a rack and brought out a cloth. "Try this on." She handed the cloth to me. As I received the cloth, my worries about my stained hands dirtying the fabric vanished, and I felt the texture of a new cloth in my hand. I felt complete contentment and immense joy inside me, and I did not fail to express it again. "You can go into the changing room and let's see how you look in them. Right?" The staff said it again with a smile. I knew that was a good idea, even though I said nothing back in response at the moment she said it to me but only smiled. Quickly, I looked from side to side, front to back, and I could see nowhere that look