The legal aid building smelled faintly of old carpet and fluorescent lighting. The kind of institutional scent that sank into the walls and clung to the air no matter how many open windows there were. I stood in a crowded lobby, one shoulder pressed against a peeling sign that reminded visitors not to raise their voices. Children cried. Phones buzzed. A man coughed wetly into a tissue he did not bother to throw away.
I had been waiting for nearly two hours.
I kept my bag clutched to my chest. Every time I shifted my weight, someone brushed past me in the cramped space. None of them looked at me. I blended in easily among people who were desperate, tired, and out of options.
A receptionist with fading purple hair called names without looking up from her screen. After a long wave of other
