Molly was seventeen and had lived on her own since she was fourteen, from the day her father, drunk as usual had tried to take her to bed. Luckily he’d fallen into a stupor, so she rifled his wallet and set space between them.
Now she worked as a waitress in the cafeteria of an office conglomerate next to an old factory. The money was ok, plus she had all she needed to eat. She’d found a small work shed that she’d cleaned up and made homey. Just she and her cat Louis lived there.
She didn’t feel at all homeless.