We have 2 weeks to find another place.

Given my luck, they’ll probably relegate it to 1, and we’ll be on the streets again. We meaning me and the dog. I still haven’t decided what to call it.

I slip on my cold jeans I’ve worn for the past 11 days, and rip the fragile threads in them as my foot catches on the hole in the knee.

Damnit.

I pack my things in a black backpack I found in the dumpster behind my apartments. A bag of chips, a screw driver for my skateboard, a bottle of water, and a hoodie. That’s all I need to survive the day ahead of me. I am looking for a job.

I slide the dog into the second pocket and warn that if it pees on my stuff I will throw him in the blender.

Down the smooth, cracked alley that I crossed the busy street to get to, I find what my future will be. 

There are people of all ages, genders and races here, using old tarps and ragged blankets as roofs for their sun-burnt bodies to rest under. Their feet peeling and dirty from walking all over town without shoes. Their eyes follow me and I want so badly to stop and give them everything- anything to make the hope in their eyes return.

These people are the only exception to my hatred of the human race.

My board glides over the L.A. pavement where I soon find a shadow creeping along the surface. I look to my left and find a boy.

I stop and pick up my transportation. He looks familiar.

“What's your name?” he squeaks. 

I don't answer and he has to ask me again before he looks somewhat recognizable to me. He looks around 12, and you can see his bloated belly trying to escape through sharp ribs- like an animal in a cage.

After I still don’t reply, the boy brings his hands out from behind his back and gives me a picture. It’s a picture of a woman holding a baby boy. Beside her is a teenage girl, maybe 16 or 17, and a toddler girl holding her hand. They look happy.

“What is this?” I finally say.

He points to the older woman and says, “That’s my mom,” and then slides his finger over the other people, “and that’s my aunt and cousin.”

It takes me a moment to realize what he is saying, and that’s when I see it.

The bone structure, the eyes. The younger girl is my mother.