He wondered who she was. He didn’t know. He would never know. In a city of millions, she was just another nameless face, lost in the crowd, devoured by indifference. He often wondered, if he’d met her while she’d still been alive, if she would’ve liked him, if he would’ve liked her.
Probably not. He’d met plenty of runaways before, and they were damaged goods. They only saw him as a cop who hassled them, and they weren’t wrong. He did hassle them. He shooed them away from the places they weren’t supposed to be, even knowing that it just drove them deeper into the shadows, the forgotten places. He tried, every so often, to help one. It never worked.