She landed hard, catching the curb against her tail bone. As she slid into the gutter, blood dripping from her broken nose, all she could think of was growing up on the farm. She ran away to the big city because she “didn’t want to waste her life on a farm,” or whatever it was she screamed at her mother.

Here she was, a big city girl now. Broken down, humiliated, addicted to heroin and a prostitute. The two brutes worked her over good. They didn’t slap her to show her they were in control, they punched her with full force. The face, the stomach, where ever. She probably blacked out two or three times during the whole ordeal. Bruises on her arms and legs were already turning deep blue.

“Here, keep the change, bitch,” the short one sneered as he flipped something at her. Then he let out a high-pitched hyena laugh as the tall one mashed the van’s gas pedal. A quarter bounced toward her, one, two, three skips then fell between the bars of the sewer grate by her foot.