Please cross my palm with a silver coin. My soi-distant garb has no lace, my soles are badly worn, but I still have the urge to survive, and continue to participate in the cradle of life, as a newborn in poverty. I would love to have stayed in my home, enjoyed the vision of bumblebees in my garden, but that sanctuary dream life is now abandoned. I have nowhere to wash off street residue in soapy water, no mask or gloves to protect me. A past reservation of asking for assistance is gone as I unwillingly skid into a new phase of life.
From the NYT:
***I realize this fictional story is nothing new in many parts of the world.