"Hey Daddy!"

I hear a woman - or a girl? - yell. I can't tell if it's a daughter yelling to her dad, or something more nefarious.

I walk further down the block and see that it's the latter, who's now talking to a man in a beat up old pickup truck. There's another woman next to her, standing back a little, but also peering into the passenger side window. As I walk down the block the truck pulls away, and the women walk toward the corner.

They're definitely not girls. They look older, but I don't think they're that old - hardship and abuse have stripped the years away, not time. Both have short hair, although it's not styled in any particular way - just easy to manage (or forget) probably. The woman who was talking to the man in the truck is wearing white capri sweatpants and a red t-shirt with a gap of round belly poking out from between the two. She stands with her legs spread slightly further apart than normal, like a runner on third base ready to steal home, but content to stay if the it's not the right pitch.

The woman next to her is facing her, and they're talking. She's wearing a cheap looking black sweatsuit that lets the same portion of her stomach stick out. As I get closer I can see their faces - both have dark black skin and in the sunlight, and through my sunglasses it has an almost reddish tint. The woman in black is facing toward the street - Martin Luther King Way, watching the cars speed past. The other woman is facing toward me. The closer I get the worse she looks. She doesn't look homeless - not quite yet, but almost. Clearly there are other things on her mind. Her facial expression seems like it's on autopilot - she looks at me as I approach with an emotionless hard stare. But despite her pursed lips and harsh features, I can see fear in her eyes. Not a specific or immediate fear, but a helpless, desperate fear. Her face is contradictory, at the same time saying "what the fuck are you staring at?" and "help."

I round the corner and catch a snippet of their conversation.

"My pussy ain't even beat up good."

I keep walking. Halfway down the block, I look back. The pickup truck has returned. Maybe she spoke too soon.