My book

        The T.V. was on so low I could barely hear it. It didn't matter anyway. I wasn't paying much attention. I shivered, it was unbelieveably cold in this house. I reached for my white, furry, coat and slid my arms threw and tucked my knees to my chin. I wrapped the coat around me. I shivered again. Don't these people have heat? Probably not, considering how poor they are. I sympathise for them, so, i choose not to say anything about it. It didn't help that the couch I was sitting in was as hard as a rock! I couldn't ever get in a comfortable sitting position, but, who can on something so rock like. I do have to say, being here was much better than being at MY house! Wasn't it? I am pretty sure it is.

        I've allways pictured foster homes as huge, dark, scary bulidings that is the haunted house of a neighborhood. I mean face it, every neighborhood has that one house, that house no one knows anything about, and doesn't want to either. Children stray far away from that house while riding their tricicles and flying their kites.