“Y’know, they say this city, it never sleeps.” She tapped the ashes off her cigarette and gazed up at the neon lights. “But I’m just prayin’ one day I’ll wake up.” I looked her over. Watched her adjust the shoulder strap of her dirty tank top, watched her shift her weight to the other high heel. She couldn’t have been older than 17. When she had asked me for a cigarette outside the gas station, I had reluctantly obliged, but now she stood beside my car as I filled the tank. “Where ya headed?” she asked softly. “Upstate,” I lied. I closed the gas cap. “Gotta get going though. You be safe now.” “Can I bum a ride?” she asked.…

I’m sure you’ve heard of the Ronald McDonald House charity. They provide housing for families of sick kids when they’re in the hospital. Seems pretty innocent, right? Well, there’s another side to the charity. There’s another type of Ronald McDonald House, one that not many people know about. There’s one in most big cities. You won’t find it by looking for it. It doesn’t have an address. It doesn’t have a sign above the door. It doesn’t even have windows. No, the only way you’ll find it, is if you’re taken there. That’s how I found it. I’ve never met my real parents. I’ve been in and out of foster families and group homes here in Detroit since I was…