*written in a small black book she found in the warehouse she is staying. She puts it in a stack of books for safe hiding.*

Dear Someone,

Living is Dead End in tough. When I first came here, I struggled to keep jobs before just giving up and taking to the streets. My clothes get ripped on a daily basis. I've slept on nasty smelly mattresses and even been run off by the cops for sleeping on a bench. I never had this picture in mind when I stumbled upon Dead End but it's the reality of what's happening.

My strong demeanor is slowly breaking down as I sleep with countless men to make a little money. Sometimes I take whatever money they have. I'll do anything to make a buck. One lonely night while trying to find another John to make some money off, I ran into a couple that took me in. The man drugged and taunted me. I was forced to have sex with another man whom would also become a member of the "family". I had different ways of doing things now that I had a new "family". Happy to not feel so alone I obliged at the requests. I was happy to at least found some people that I thought had my back.

Soon I would learn the lessons of this "family". One day, I came back with no money and was basically turned into a reward for another member that brought in his quota for the day. It made me feel worse about myself. I already felt like a piece of meat to the poor john's that I took money from. I swallowed down pills as I yearned for quality attention.