almost every Sunday
Almost every Sunday, I see an older woman (a hero in a hard-as-nails, soul-less land) and her wheelchair-ridden granddaughter, perhaps with cerebral palsy and/or Down Syndrome. This older lady cares for this child as if she was the only person this little girl’s got in life to care for her. Hence we must wonder what’d be this girls future once her caretaker dies. After all, angels can’t push wheelchairs.
Maybe she’d end up in a home — one of those horror stories of patient (child) abuse.
The sickening part of this girl’s reality lies on the prying eyes of the curious and the stupid who see her as a carnival freak show. Such is the reality of ignorance and holier-than-though New Yorkers. As such, one bad apple spoils a whole bunch.