My Experience at a Soup Kitchen

To understand my journey, I must start nearly two decades ago. One evening, as I returned home, I was assaulted by a homeless man in the hallway of my apartment building. As I entered the elevator, he approached and struck me in the face. I could hear my teeth shatter as he hit me again. Blood poured from my mouth and nose as he attempted to steal my bag, which contained my work laptop. I refused to let go, and he dragged me from the elevator, hitting me until I gasped for breath and collapsed. He kicked me repeatedly as I curled up, clutching my bag and shielding my face.

Amidst the chaos, I remember how I cried out for help—an animalistic howl that echoed my terror. No one came to my aid. I pleaded for him to stop and surrendered all the cash in my wallet, which he took before fleeing. This incident left deep scars, both physical and emotional. It took six months for my