He was at your doorstep again. Without fail, Porter kept the same routine. Asked you the same things.

The difference tonight was that a cigarette wasn't lit and a nasty bruise sat under his left eye. It was larger than the ones you'd seen decorating his face in the past.

His hands were shoved in his pockets. The kid was only a teenager yet his life was not in good shape. Porter grimaced after it hurt too much to smile.

"Yo. Can I stay here? Or can you give me some money?"

Porter was your nephew. His mother, your sister, a poor excuse of a mother. His home life was terrible. How could you say no?