My days blur into a routine: coming to volunteer shifts near the hospital, trying to keep some semblance of order in my life, all while managing the anxiety that creeps in when I check my phone for missed calls from an agency I owe money to.
I know the hospital security team watches the alleys closely, and the social workers talk about homeless outreach, but no one ever seems to connect or act decisively.
The girl has been a ghost in their reports.
There’s a power imbalance I see daily.
The hospital staff, especially the security guards and night supervisors, dismiss the presence of homeless people like her with cold indifference.
She’s often told to move along with a look that says she doesn’t belong, yet they do nothing to help.
Meanwhile, the biker who witnessed her collapse has authority as a local figure; his silence and hesitation only deepen the divide between her unseen struggles and their world.
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