Crying in the rain on a cement stoop, a little lost girl can't see the wolves through all the tears. A living 'Little 15' far from all that's familiar. Men walk by, shoulders hunched against the rain, shooting glances. A band of her skin catches hungry eyes in the night. Some looks are hidden, others obvious and rude.
What thoughts in the minds of men, alone and desperate? Will any try to help her? Or will she fall victim to unanimous imagination?
Originally posted on October 24, 2006 on Myspace.
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