Once in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway. She hugged her hat to her chest, and lightly tapped on the door, and prepared herself for the worst. Her lips were chapped and as cold as icicles, because of the cold winter air. When there was no answer. A tear drop slid down her grimy, and filthy face. She knocked a little louder this time, and when now one replied. She slid down the wall, sitting on the pavement. A man walked by, and spit on to the step in front of her feet. She was positive that it was intended for her. She breathed, and knocked on the door louder, and now one answered. She kicked are rock, and thought to herself: once again now one can hear my cry.