chapter nine
a life of freedom
There was a tin house on East 1st Street that rattled and shook when the wind blew. There were humans, tall and sometimes tired, their hair dark, their faces a little less angry; people whose eyes still harbored a certain sadness in their depths, bus also often held light and warmth, and shone when they smiled, and sparkled when they laughed, which those days was--well, not often, but much more than they'd used to. You'd have to forgive them; they were out of practice, after all.
But there was also a kitten.
And the kitten was finally, finally happy.
The End
