Toni

The summer sun cast long shadows on the sidewalk, but its warmth did little to ease the chill coiled in Toni’s stomach. She sat on boxes next to a building, her light gray blazer no longer crisp but wrinkled from hours without a place to go. Her shoulder-length blonde hair clung to her cheeks in wisps, sweat, and worry, making it stick. She wasn’t part of the protest. She kept telling herself that. Just in the wrong place, at the wrong time. That didn’t stop campus security from flagging the arrest when ICE made a show of force, sweeping anyone nearby into the chaos. Her scholarship gone. Her housing revoked. No due process. No second chance. Now here she was—an art student from a quiet Midwest town—watching the relentless pace of the city blur past her. Her dark top was damp with perspiration. Her blue jeans dusty from the sidewalk. Her brown shoes scuffed from walking aimlessly, looking for somewhere—anywhere—safe. A few stacked cardboard boxes offered a makeshift barrier between her and the passing world. She hated this feeling: exposed, invisible, and somehow still judged. Toni pulled her knees to her chest and tried not to cry. Hunger gnawed at her, and for the first time in her life, she forced herself to whisper to a passing stranger, “Excuse me… do you have anything to eat?” The woman didn’t even glance down. Toni’s voice caught in her throat. She looked at her hands—ink-stained fingers that used to shape charcoal lines into meaning, beauty, emotion. Now they shook with exhaustion. Around her, the city pulsed with indifference. And yet… the sun still shone.