THE JACK DAWSON DIARIES
Chapter Two
The rain poured fast outside in
the ghettos of New York. The water dripped through the ceiling of the apartment
the Dawsons lived in. Jack was crying angrily.
If his mom had really, truly
loved him, then why was he here now, lying in a cold, hard bed, clutching a
thin sheet for comfort?
He couldn’t stand this. If this
was life, what was the point of living?
He stretched and climbed out of
bed.
He slipped on his worn sneakers,
yanked on his gray Nike hoodie, and sneaked out of the apartment.
He stepped into the elevator,
which smelled of piss and stuff. It squeaked as it traveled down twelve floors
and suddenly ground to a halt. Jack ran out of it.
Where was he going? He didn’t
really know. He didn’t even know if he would bother going back to the grimy
little apartment.
He yanked up his hood and marched
along the flooded sidewalks.
A bus shelter was nearby.
Shelter, he thought to himself. Pulling together
all his strength, he jogged across the street and plunked himself into a seat.