Victoria

When I was little, I would go out front with a broom and sweep the stoop to make it more bearable. The old man across the street watched from his rickety porch. "Boy," he'd say, "you're gonna' leave this hell-hole and make something of yourself." My family loved me, but they didn't have time to stop and tell me. He was the only one who ever noticed what I was doin', but I guess it only did take but one nice person.