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She walks on to the man on the street,
'Sir can you help me?
Its cold and I've nowhere to sleep,
Is there some place you can show me?'

This time he doesn't walk on,
He doesn't pretend not to hear her,
He doesn't whistle and cross the street.
No this time round he looks down at her,
Spite written all over his face,
'The next time you come near me you rascal,
I will make wipe from the surface of the earth,'
He spits on her face to show the strength of his remark,
Feeling proud and fulfilled.

These events play over and over again in her head,
Tears run down her face as if in a race,
She didn't know why life had to be this hard,
This cruel.
She didn't choose to be born under that highway bridge,
Neither did she have a title, status or prestige.
But that didn't make her less human,
And she swore to different.

Head Surgeon, was what read on the door,
Wall to wall carpet,
Furniture expensively imported.
She smiled as she sipped her perfectly brewed cup of coffee.

'Doc you are needed urgently in the theater,
Bullet wounded man profusely bleeding,
You may the only one who might be able to save him!!!'

She responds to the call as she would any other,
Runs to the theater and gets ready,
She sees her patient and freezes,
Those around think its the usual anxiety,
And her assuring smile says the same.

Ten hours later he opens his eyes,
Stretches his hand to the doctor and says his thank-yous,
'I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you',
She nods,
Remembered the day he spat on her,
Remember fixes the spite his face had that day,
And the same streams of tears flow down her face,
Just as they had twenty years ago,
She holds his hand and says,
'No thank you,
I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you.'

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