The Girl in the Booth
I saw my reflection, through the windows and through a little girl.
She was just another kid, really. Another eight-year-old that amounted to excess baggage being carted around by a parent. A dead weight, a liability, something not to be fussed over, but to be looked after to prevent further inconvenient consequences. I probably pass a hundred kids just like her every week, but her expression was what yanked my attention to her as I walked by. Boredom, hurt, survival, and resignation, all...