Undesireable

She supposes she is suburbanized. She didn’t mean for it to happen.
The three bedroom corner lot ranch prison in the middle of a
well maintained, well policed neighborhood came out of nowhere and
arrested her.

When she was a child she lived in undesirable locations. Vagrants, drug abusers and drunks wandered the hallways. Like dominoes, they slept where they fell. One night, from her bedroom window, she watched a man stab another man in the chest repeatedly for a forty-ounce bottle of malt liquor. She stood outside with the rest of the gawkers the following morning when the police arrived. The people in expensive suits on their way to their corner offices said they were happy the street would be rid of one more bum. Later that evening she was behind bullet proof glass selling liquor and loose cigarettes to underage teenagers from nicer areas and the homeless, when the priest from Saints Peter and Paul Catholic Church came in. He hated the homeless. Hated their begging at the church door for food, shelter and prayer, and hated that the liquor store was so close to his sacred space. “You’re sure to find a place in hell with the devil,” he spit at her before leaving with his pack of cinnamon gum.