Alyssa was a kind girl of twenty-six. She started as a temp, working as a receptionist for HomeCore, an inner city based assisted living agency, and after several pay increases became a full time staff member. She resented establishing permenance with the company, but she didn't show that face to her clients. They only knew the gentleness of her smile, a beauty that was so accessible, more often than not she'd have to change clients. Unwanted comments were common from the older men, it was what the women said that made her uncomfortable. Jealousy and lust still loom, even when time's presence had been well established. But not George. She loved George as any woman would love their disabled child. His simplicity, his gentle mannerisms always put a smile on her face. He never asked for much. A kind word, some assistance with his art, a guide for his routines, that's all he asked for and she was more than glad to give it.
As she spoke to him in on the process they go through each and every day, socks, slippers, breakfast, soap, shirt, slacks, shoes, teeth and door, she thought of the rest of the world. Of the news that perpetuated violence, a world of terror and destruction that he hadn't the faintest clue of and of how nice that would be.
How pleasant the world would be if ignorant of him.
Of the Dirty Street Trophy Killer.