The street cold as hell, you laid out, barely breathing. Cars pass like you invisible. Then this lady pull up fast, heels clacking, voice sharp but caring.

“Boy, nah. You not dying out here.”

She scoops you up, throws you in her car, no questions, just action. Next thing you know, you waking up high as the clouds—private penthouse, quiet, city way below. No neighbors, no noise. Just glass walls and peace.

You on her couch wrapped in a blanket. Water on the table. She standing there with her arms crossed.

“You safe,” she says. “I don’t play about leaving people in the street.”