Kimberly Shea Miller
"Well I have about a hundred and thirty, almost forty. A puppy isn't that much if you go to a pound. It's usually the pretty, wellknown places that charge like four hundred for a dog. Maybe we can get a little mutt, one no one wants, like me." She suddenly got quiet.
Then Ford asked about the scar, "Your story's in that, I imagine." and touched it.
She looked down and pulled the tankup, trying to cover it. "You...you really wanna know?"
"I didn't see it before. And I won't ask if you don't want to bring it up."
Kim sighed. "My dad never was the loving dad, but one night, he took the abusive role too far. He came home really drunk and demanded I clean the kitchen. I tried telling him that the whole house was already clean, but he just got mad and threw everything around. he went to hit me and I pushed him. His beer bottle hit the table and broke. That waz the final straw, and he went to hit me with it. And this is the aftermath." Kim reached up and touched the scar. "I fixed it up, packed my bags, and climbed out my window. Almost broke my leg gettin outta the 2nd story." She looked down, her hand still on the scar. "It was about a month ago. I lived in Philly. Hitchhiked as far as I could, walked the rest. Had to atleast get outta the state."