Fuller hesitates and stops.The other pedestrians flow around them."You can spit on me for a dollar," she offers.Fuller stares at her speechless."I kno... you despise me."For a minute, Fuller stops breathing. He is dressed in a business suit standing at a busy downtown street corner across from a park. He looks down at the panhandler. She is dressed in old blue jeans and a man's faded, plaid, wool shirt.She's thin with long brown hair. Her hair is parted in the middle. Her face has a pale,. Life was good.She was so proud of her son, but even so, she couldn't help but dream ofhaving a daughter as well. A little princess of her own, she could spoilrotten, styling her hair, painting her nails, having girly nights snuggledup on the couch watching some soppy rom com. She would often find herselfwandering around the girls sections of clothes stores fantasizing aboutthe sorts of outfits she would buy her imaginary daughter. Sometimes, inmoments of madness, she had found herself buying. More

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