A voice in the crowd broke the steady hum of the city’s evening rush. The sun was setting behind the skyline, casting a warm glow over the bustling streets where people moved purposefully, too absorbed in their own worlds to notice much around them.
Isaiah, a young Black boy with dust-smeared cheeks and an outstretched hand, stood quietly on the corner. He had learned not to expect much—maybe a few coins, perhaps a bit of leftover food. He’d long since trained himself to ignore the ache of hunger and the sting of dismissive looks.
His makeshift bed, a battered piece of cardboard, was tucked under his arm as he moved through the crowd, barely noticeable, nearly invisible. His voice had grown hoarse from a day of quietly calling out, and each minute left him a…..Read Full Story Here………………
