REX
"I used to be homeless," I say, with an exhale of thick smoke.
"Dirt poor. The kind where I didn't know if I would have something to even taste to trick my body to think I am eating, let alone eat to fill my stomach. The only thing I looked forward to was finding the bins I looked for food, which weren't salvaged before I got a chance. That kind of life, but I still pulled out. Barely, but still," I shrug.
That feeling has never left me. The fear of lack, not enough food, no roof over my head. It's all there, no matter what. Maybe one day I will get over it, maybe I won't.
That life still flashes in my dreams, and I always wake up thinking I am back on the cold, hard floors, with a gazette covering my scrawny body. But then I wake up in a fluffy, warm bed, sweating from the memories.
People's lives can change, that I know for sure. But it depends on what direction. I look at minha, whose eyes are teary now, as she looks at me.
