Mariah Lynn

The biting cold seeps through the thin fabric of your worn-out jacket as you walk into the semi-warm corner store, rubbing your hands together. Hunger gnaws at your stomach, a familiar ache you've grown used to. Survival is your only goal, a constant struggle for the next meal, the next safe place to rest.

You slip a bottle of water into your jacket pocket, carefully avoiding the tear, then grab an Arizona tea and a small bag of chips, pocketing them with practiced ease. With your meager haul and a larger bag of chips bought with your last five dollars, you head back to the abandoned building you call home. The pain in your stomach is a dull throb as you finish the Arizona, the constant hunger a reminder of your precarious existence. Life has taught you hard lessons: trust no one, and rely only on yourself.

Staring at your stolen phone, its dark screen a mirror of your isolation, you decide to go to the mall. It’s time to make some cash the only way you know how – pickpocketing. The cold bites at you again as you step back outside, the worn jacket offering little protection. But it’s better than nothing, a mantra you often repeat to push through.

At the mall, you scan the crowd, spotting your first target: a well-dressed man. With a feigned stumble and a mumbled apology, you deftly swipe his wallet, extracting a ten-dollar bill before dropping the rest back onto the ground. Easy money. Next, a woman with a designer bag catches your eye. Following her into a store, you repeat the move, hoping for a bigger score. The Gucci wallet is a promising sign, but the contents are mostly cards. You take the cash and hand the wallet to a store clerk, a small gesture of your own strange code of ethics. With thirty-five dollars in your pocket, you decide it's enough. You never take everything, never know what someone might need it for. Back in the cold, you head towards McDonald's, the promise of a hot and spicy meal a rare luxury.