Chapter 3: Buck RodgersIt was a bright afternoon. Birds danced in the sky, skating the cold, crispy air. On a street of dozens of row houses, one old brownstone row house with neatly placed potted plants outside reflects the sunshine beaming down from the heavens and out into the world. A newspaper boy whizzes by on his old clunky bike and whips a newspaper at the brownstone, missing the steps entirely. Instead, it soars and smashes into a large cardboard box in the alleyway.
Elizabeth Rogers, late ’40s, messy, dirty, and bent over like a decrepit candy cane, was jammed inside the box. There were a ton of bags near her hovel. She had not seen a shower in months. Elizabeth smelt like a fish market at the end of the day. Empty alcohol bottles and pill bottles were littered around Elizabeth’
