Regina's efforts seemed to be an exercise in futility, for the homeless man she pursued for a story had not so much as glanced her way.
As days turned into weeks, the number of journalists sticking around dwindled, until Regina was the only one left.
By day, she felt fine, her courage unwavering. But night's cloak seemed to bring a shiver of fear. Eventually, bracing herself, she approached the man once more.
"Don’t you wanna talk about what happened to you?" she prodded. "Look around, everyone's gone. Even if you're not talking to a rookie, you don't have much choice now, do you?"
The man, wrapped in his threadbare coat, didn't even lift his eyes. It was as if he lived in a vacuum, oblivious to Regina's plea.
Under normal circumstances, Regina would have moved on to another story, but this man had been ranting about losing everything he held dear, and she didn't dare broach his sorrows uninvited.
Pacing restlessly, she finally stamped her foot in determination and dragged her gear to sit directly opposite him.
"I'm not leaving if you're not talking. Let's see who lasts longer," Regina declared, not wanting her previous efforts to have been in vain.
She also harbored a glimmer of hope that this could be her big break, the story that would turn her career around.
She wasn't alone in that place; other homeless folks were around.
And that night, trouble found her.
A drunkard, reeking of cheap booze, stumbled upon the sight of Regina, fair and beautiful, and made a beeline for her.
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