A Ten-Year-Old Knocked on My Window at Midnight—Then Begged Me to Call the Police So He Could Go to Jail

A chill ran through me. “Why would I do that?”

He looked straight at me, eyes glassy but steady in a way no kid’s eyes should be.

“So I can go to jail.”

For a second, I thought I had heard him wrong. “Kid… jail isn’t where you want to go.”

“Yes, it is,” he insisted, his voice cracking. “They give you food there. And it’s warm.”