The heat from the afternoon sun beat down on her shoulders, causing her minor discomfort considering the hooded sweatshirt she wore and forcing her shoulders to droop as if in defeat.  She stood on the cornerher corner, the corner she had stood on a thousand times before.  The cracks in the sidewalk wove determinedly through the concrete, as the cracks in the very souls of its patrons did.  Shane studied a small weed that had managed to force its self through a break in the hard service.  The strong vine held up a small yellow flower as if showing its triumph over the corner, as if saying that my roots may be buried in your tainted depths, but I shall rise above it.  She wondered if she would ever be able to hold her arms up in victory over her own roots.   

Shaking her head bitterly at her own hopes she looked up to the long black Lincoln that had perched it self before her.  She breathed a small sigh and stepped into the tinted back.  Shane turned to the older man seated across from her, words were not needed she knew what she was here for and she swiftly set her hands to the task.  Reaching across to the seat facing her, she tenderly picked up a battered leather bound book.  Skimming for a moment she found her place and studied the lines and curves of the writing.  Once again Shane let out a sigh and set her mind to remembering the passages contained within the journal.

He is doing better today. 

Shane looked up and studied the weary man before her.  She nodded her head and gave him a small smile.  She watched as he poured himself another drink tilting a glass in her direction.  No thank you.  She returned her attention back to the book.

I hope the money is helping you, although I doubt all the money in the world could repay you for what you are doing for my son.  He took a small sip of his scotch breathing in the sweet smell.  I know it is an arduous task, and even the strongest of us would not be able to handle it.