I'm Jenny Glover. I don't remember anything up until about a week ago, my fifteenth birthday, and have tried to study my life. When I look at different articles in the newspapers, they talk about "friends of Jenny Glover dying about a week after they made friends." I know I wouldn't kill someone, though. I'm not a murderer. 'Whatever helps you sleep at night' I thought to myself. So, now I was out in the streets, the only things with me were my satchel with all of my books in it, a small umbrella, and my clothes. The ones on my back, and that's all.

It was getting late. The street lamps were getting lit by gentlemen, and only adults and irresponsible children were out on the streets now. This was the darkest time here in New Orleans, the time when adults came out to get drunk and buy cocaine and other drugs. 

I was walking, and suddenly some drunkard ran into me, touching non-appropriate places as I tried to escape. He pinned me to a wall, and covered my mouth to muffle my yells and screams.

"Hush, girly. It's okay. I won't hurt you." He shoved cocaine up my nose. I tried my hardest not to breathe, but I eventually had to, and the white powder went into my system.

Luckily, one of the street lamp lighters came up and shoved the guy off of me, and started yelling at him to go back home to sober up before coming back out. 

"Sorry about that, miss. Some people can't respect personal space." the man said.

"It's okay. Sorry for the trouble..." I say quietly, looking down at my boots.

"No problem. Just remember, if you ever need help from something like that, scream as if you're being tortured. That's the best way to do it. G'night, madam." and he went back to work.

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The night wore on, and I found a small spot in an alleyway that I could use as shelter. I made a small cardboard home, and put my umbrella in front of me to protect me from the wind.

I hope tonight won't get too cold.