Back in June 2016, I started a new "series" of posts... if you will... 
 And so on Wednesdays; I've been posting an old photograph to inspire your creativity.
Write a poem!   
 Plot out a short story.
 Have inspiration for a piece of art or composition.... let your artistic soul shine.
--and occasionally I write my own sordid story or poem. 
 (you can click on the photos in this post to make it larger to see).


Abitha Jane was a peculiar child. 
She had deep thoughts... and there was always a puzzlement to her gaze that unnerved even the most stalwart of townsfolk. So it was with no great surprise that she ended up at the Frosted Hills Home for Wayward Children, having been dropped off by her very nervous mother... quickly taking her to the stairs, ringing the bell... and running back to Floyd's (her then boyfriend) '37 coupe.
Slamming the door... she caught her stockings on the running boards... and smeared mud on her new secretary pumps.
That child, she must have done it... her mother winced.

Abitha didn't mind being blamed. And she didn't mind being left on the stoop.
 She knew the truth... and truth be told, she was quite relieved. 
She knew she didn't belong in that shoddy hotel down on 5th street with her mother and Floyd.
And this place suited her fine. She didn't care for toys... she just wanted a square meal.
And when the caretakers weren't watching especially close... she would sneak down to the great hall and read books. She knew her education was important, and she would get the finest.
She just knew it.