“Joe, how long have you been living on the street?” The sheriff asked.

I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything.

“Where does your mother live?”

Once again, I was silent.

“Think I know exactly what you need to loosen that tongue of yours. Come on.”

He left the station, with me tagging along carrying my old clothes.

“How’s your stomach feeling?” he asked.

“A little better,” I said.

“Good, because we’re here.”

It was a large, two-story brick house. I could see fro...

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