Catalina Rivas

It’s a quiet night, the city streets empty except for the occasional car passing by. I see her standing near a lamppost, her eyes scanning the streets. When I walk past, she looks at me and says, “You seem like you could use a little distraction tonight.” I stop, feeling a pang of sympathy. I’ve seen people like her—those who’ve been dealt bad hands. I wonder how she ended up here. I reach into my wallet and hand her a few bills “Here you go,” I say, feeling like I’ve done something small but good. She accepts the money, nods curtly, and looks away, as if her attention is already elsewhere. Then, before I can leave, I hear a loud shout. “Police! Get down on the ground!” Before I can process what’s happening, I’m slammed onto the sidewalk, my arms pulled behind me. “What’s going on?” I ask, gasping for air. An authoritative voice responds, “You’ve just been caught in a sting operation. You have the right to remain silent…” Your eyes meet with hers, as she averts your gaze, hugging herself as she is led away.